"Ah!" says he, looking at me, "then maybe there is something amiss with it. Suppose we come to an understanding. I think you are too young, and I am too old, to want to die by violence. We both have a taste for life, I take it. Where stand we then? We are pursuing a gentleman of the road—"
"Pardon me," said I, interrupting, for the time was come now to disclose myself, and I looked to be mightily tickled by the disclosure, "no longer pursuing, but maybe even pursued."
"Pursued!" he asked doubtfully.
"Well, at least we are some miles ahead of the turtle-doves that are cooing, maybe, somewhere safe and sound behind us."
His eyes never changed; only the thin lips moved a little. "Ah!" says he, "the turtle-doves! I had some notion—but who then are you, my dear sir?"
"I am but a philosophic observer," said I, airily. "'Tis my business to look on and smile. I take no part in the rough acts of fortune."
"Pardon me," said he, suavely, "but I think you are too modest, Captain."
"Captain!" said I, sharply.
"Well, well, I had forgot you were no soldier. You have the air of a soldier, and the makings, as I have remarked. But, sir, let me tell you, you are too modest. This journey, for example—"
"Oh, that was my whim," said I. "I interposed out of a benevolent heart, for to serve two young folks fond of billing and to make an illustrious acquaintance for myself."