It was no part of my plan to be drawn into open criticism of the man I was shortly to approach in the character of an outspoken fellow traitor.
“We must not judge too hastily, Mr. Castner,” I put in placably. “Arnold was greatly respected by his former subordinates, and, truly, he did many things to win their regard, I am told. But that is neither here nor there: this legion he is enrolling—is it horse or foot?”
“Foot. It is called the ‘Loyal American,’ and is pretty largely composed of—of men who, like yourself, Mr. Page, have changed flags.”
“Are the lists full?” was my next query.
The lieutenant smiled.
“Would you take service under your country’s bitterest enemy, Captain Page?”
I laughed.
“Beggars mustn’t be choosers. And as for my country’s enemies; my country is the king’s, or at least, he says it is, though you must confess, Mr. Castner, that the standing-places where a Loyalist may hear the whipping of the royal standard above his head have become sadly few and restricted.”
Once again the lieutenant was shaking his head in mild deprecation.
“You must teach your tongue a better trade, Captain Page,” he said quite good-naturedly. “There are those in this town who would find fault with that last speech of yours.”