The audience puzzled for several moments over this strange arrangement. Suddenly the landlady burst out laughing.
“You think to fool us!” she cried. “How, if nobody makes them go, can there be soldiers to pay?”
“Aye! That’s it!” roared the host.
“They want to go,” I explained.
“Want to be soldiers!” bellowed the innkeeper. “What nonsense! Who wants to be a soldier and work three years for nothing?”
“But you don’t understand. Those who want to be soldiers are paid wages.”
“Ah!” cried the musician, with a sudden burst of inspiration, “when your name is drawn, you pay a man to go for you?”
“No; the government pays him. Our names are not drawn.”
“How much money the king must spend, paying all the soldiers,” mused my opponent.
“Ah! They are a strange people, the Americans,” sighed the host, and he cast upon me a glance that seemed to say, “and liars, too, very often.”