"Where was the wood bought?" he asked.
"From the wood merchant beyond the river," replied the Major. "But it is already on the way, and——"
"How do you go to the wood merchant?" insisted the Captain. "We have got to have the wood toot sweet."
"Ah! tout de suite—tout de suite—tout de suite," repeated the Major in tones of exasperation. "With you Americans it is always tout de suite. Here——"
He took my notebook and drew a plan of streets indicating the way to the place of the wood merchant. In spite of his remark and the undesired intrusion of business upon his déjeuner, the Major's manner was as friendly as could be expected from a Town Major. We left on the run.
The wood merchant was a big man, elderly and fat. His face was red and he had bushy grey eyebrows. He wore a smock of blue cloth that came to his knees. He remonstrated that it was useless for us to buy wood from him because wood had already been bought for us. He spoke only French. The Captain dismissed all further argument by a direct frontal attack on the subject.
"Avez-vous de bois?" asked the Captain.
"Oui," the merchant nodded.
"Avez-vous de chevaux?" the Captain asked.
"Oui," the merchant nodded again.