“Yes, sir.”
“If Smithson had been a common sort of pothouse-haunting fellow, it might have been so; but Smithson was a clever musician, and too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.”
“Thank ye, sir.”
“‘Thank ye!’” cried the lieutenant, irritably; “what do you mean by that?”
“I mean, sir, that’s what he is.”
“Oh, pooh! he has not deserted.”
“I don’t know, sir,” said Jerry, dubiously.
“Look here, Brigley: I don’t often use bad language, but if you talk like that, confound you! I shall swear at you.”
“I wish you would, sir,” said Jerry.
“What?”