“I have no wish to be insubordinate, but, speaking on behalf of all present here, I desire to say that we feel it impossible to remain at the table in company with one who—”
“That will do,” said the colonel, fixing Dickenson with his eyes, for that individual had suddenly given vent to a sound that was neither sigh, grunt, ejaculation, nor snort, but something that might have been the result of all these combined.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” said Roby hotly.
“I said that would do, Captain Roby,” replied the colonel. “I did not gather that you had been elected to speak for your brother officers upon a subject about which I consider myself to be the proper arbiter. Moreover, if any officer feels himself aggrieved respecting any one whom I elect to join us at the mess-table, I am always open to hear his complaint.”
“But really, sir,” began Roby indignantly, “this is an assembly of honourable gentlemen.”
“With an exception,” growled Dickenson.
“Yes,” cried Roby passionately, “with an exception—I may add, two exceptions.”
“Look here, Captain Roby,” cried Dickenson, springing up, “do you mean this as an insult to me?”
“Silence!” cried the colonel, rising in turn. “Mr Dickenson, resume your seat.”
Dickenson dropped down so heavily that the empty cartridge-box that formed his seat cracked as if about to collapse.