“Well, sir,” I said, feeling quite red as I spoke, “he kissed my fist instead—that’s all.”
Captain Dyer began to walk up and down, playing with one of the buttons on his breast, as was his way when eager and excited.
“Now, Smith,” he said at last, stopping short before me, “what does that mean?”
“Mean, sir?” I said, feeling quite as excited as himself. “Well, sir, if you ask me, I say that if it was in time of peace and quiet, it would only mean that it was a hit of his damned black—I beg your pardon, captain,” I says, stopping short, for, you see, it was quite time.
“Go on, Smith,” he said quietly.
“His black impudence, sir.”
“But, as it is not in time of peace and quiet, Smith?” he said, looking me through and through.
“Well, sir,” I said, “I don’t want to croak, nor for other people to believe what I say; but it seems to me that that black fellow’s kicking out of the ranks means a good deal; and I take it that he is excited with the news that he has somehow got hold of—news that is getting into his head like so much green ’rack. I’ve thought of it some little time now, sir; and it strikes me that if, instead of our short company being Englishmen, they were all Chunder Chows, before to-morrow morning, begging your pardon, Captain Dyer and Lieutenant Leigh would have said ‘Right wheel’ for the last time.”
“And the women and children!” he muttered softly; but I heard him.
He did not speak then for quite half a minute, when he turned to me with a pleasant smile.