“Yes, with your commission. We’ve lost your father. We must have you to take his place.”
“No, sir,” said Frank, flushing. “I don’t want to take my father’s place. I want to see him back in it.”
“Well said!” cried the colonel; “what we all want. But get to be a bit more of a man, and then coax the Prince to give you a commission. I think we can make room for Robert Gowan’s son in the corps, gentlemen?”
There was a chorus of assent at this; and the colonel went on:
“Come and sit by me, my lad. We can find a chair for you and your guest, Murray, at this end. Why, you’re not fit for a page, my lad; they want soft, smooth, girlish fellows for that sort of thing. A young firebrand like you, ready to whip out his sword and use it, is the stuff for a soldier.”
Frank wished the old officer would hold his tongue, and not draw attention to him, for every one at the table was listening, and Captain Murray sat smiling with grim satisfaction. But the colonel went on:
“Very glad to see you here this evening, my boy. Why, I hear that you are quite a favourite with the Prince.”
“It does not seem like it, sir,” said Frank, who was beginning to feel irritated. “I am a prisoner.”
There was a laugh at this, which ran rippling down the table.
“Not bad quarters for a prisoner, eh, gentlemen?” said the colonel. “Pooh! my lad, you are only under arrest; and we are very glad you are, for it gives us the opportunity of having the company of Robert Gowan’s son.”