"He don't like it and never did."
"Is he fool 'nough t' think we can win this war without help?"
"He won it once."
"When?"
"Saratoga."
"That's his story. We didn't have it won and it won't be won without troops and with somethin' besides shin-plasters." He turned sideways, crossed one leg over the other and began to drum upon the table.
"We must hev help," he went on. "We must hev it and it must come from France 'r Spain."
"They y' are agin," repeated Forrest, "as if one wuzn't as much under th' Pope as th' other."
"Forrest!" he turned toward him and shook his finger at him in a menacing sort of way. "Don't say that agin. Mind what I tell ye. Don't say it again—that's all. When I'm mad, I'm not myself."
"Is that so? I s'pose I'm wrong agin, an' you're right. Tell me this. What did yer fool leg'slature in Vi'ginya do th' other day?"