“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause, and Fred’s henchman rose painfully on one arm to try and make out the reason of the silence, but he could only see that the young officer was staring at the window.
“Poor boy!” said Samson to himself. “Seems hard for him to be made into a soldier at his time o’ life. Ought to be at school instead of wearing a sword.”
“Yes, sir,” he said aloud.
“Yes?”
“You called me, sir.”
“Did I?” said Fred, vacantly.
“Yes, sir; you said ‘Samson.’”
“Oh yes, I remember. Did you see much of the fight, Samson?”
“As much as any one could for the dark.”