“Try another way, sir,” said Lacey, looking round with his eyes rolling, and then he sat, smoked, and sipped in silence.
“See your ladies home safely?” said the colonel at last.
“Oh, yes, sir; I saw them home safely,” cried the lieutenant, snatching his cigar from his lips and dashing it into the empty grate. “Colonel, did you ever have an old woman in hysterics on your hands?”
“Well, I have had ladies in hysterics on my hands.”
“But not for an hour and a half! Oh, it was awful, and all the time someone else so ill she could hardly stir. By George, what a scene! I don’t care. You fellows sneer at me, and say I don’t know anything about women: but I do. Old maids who have hysterics are the most selfish wretches that ever breathed. I couldn’t get away.”
“Of course not,” said one of the officers. “That’s your fault.”
“My fault! Why?”
“Being so good-looking!”
“Good-looking! Ha! ha! ha! Look at me!” cried Lacey, leaping up and surveying his scorched face, and then his blackened uniform and general aspect of having been badly in the wars. “Yes, I look handsome, don’t I? I say, though, I thought it was all over with me. I couldn’t get free. Who helped me out?”
“That plucky little bandsman!”