"I dare say," was the Colonel's dry comment, "but it's much more important at times to be loyal to the last wag of your tongue."
"Then I only answer, as in the presence of God, for myself," said he piously.
"Leaving God to look after Mr. Secretary," said Charles, banging his empty glass on the table. "I'll answer for the rest. So get on with your plan, Colonel."
"His Royal Highness has selected the easier task," whispered Margaret in my ear.
"Well, sir," began the Colonel, "I should say to my men: 'When the Highlanders charge, take no notice of the man who is coming straight at you. Keep your eye on his left-hand man, who is coming at your right-hand man. Don't fire at him till you can see the whites of his eyes, and if you don't bring him down with the bullet, have at him and thrust your bayonet into his right ribs. There's no buckler there, and his right arm will be up to strike. The man coming at you will be attended to in the same way by your left-hand man.' After a week's practice in that little trick, sir, I should face any charge your Highlanders liked to make, and would bet a thousand guineas to this pinch of rappee--poor stuff as it is--on stopping 'em dead in their tracks."
"By gad! and so you would, sir!" said my Lord Ogilvie explosively.
"It sounds feasible," said old Sir Thomas, "but fortunately Colonel Waynflete is with us, and can teach us new tricks."
"Of course he can," said Charles. "What do you say, Master Wheatman? You know him."
"That old poachers make the best gamekeepers, sir," I answered.
"Nom de chien," cried the Colonel, twirling fiercely round on me. Margaret, who sat between us, laughingly pretended to protect me from him, and he thrust his snuff-box across at me.