"Well, give me a pinch of snuff, and I'll ask your advice on another military point."
This was the straight way to the Colonel's heart, taking snuff and talking soldiership being to him the twin boons of life.
Charles took his rappee thoughtfully and then said, "What is the best way of dealing with a solid body of the enemy with inferior forces?"
"Split 'em up and smash 'em in detail, sir."
"What d'ye say to that, Tom Sheridan?" asked Charles.
"The oracle of Delphi could not have spoken better, sir," replied Sir Thomas.
"Damn your oracle of Delphi, you old rascal," cried the Prince, with great good-humour. "That's a crumb of the mouldy bread of learning you used to cram down my throat in the old days. It makes Master Wheatman writhe to hear it. The only advantage I ever got out of being a Prince was that old Tom here never dared thrash me for gulping up his rubbish."
"Master Wheatman knows Latin enough to stock a couple of bishops, sir," said the Colonel.
"The devil he does!" said Charles admiringly. "He'll come in handy for writing me a letter to His Holiness."
"It's not such bad stuff as all that, sir," said I, glad of a chance of saying something, for I had been hurt to the quick by talk that reminded me of how I had quizzed Jack's classics in Old Comfit's entry.