“I think you need another little stimulant,” declared the Madame promptly. “Your conversational courage is not up to scratch....” She procured another bottle of something and set it at his elbow. Then while he opened it, she remarked, “What you meant to say, I believe, Captain, was the same as General Bargrave said the other evening: that you can’t judge a man’s bed manners by his table manners.”
We all laughed at that frank bon mot and the Captain replied in kind, “I’ve known lovely ladies to prove false alarms, too.”
“Touché!” cried the lady—and I fell to wondering whether she meant that he meant her or was just acknowledging a good thrust at women in general. From what he told me, he had never investigated this woman personally; she couldn’t be much of a false alarm, if he still would like to gain her favor.
Well, anyway, that’s the kind of a party it was: harmless and pleasant and, so far as I could see, marking no progress toward our goal. However, the Captain didn’t seem to be very downhearted about it. He said for me to keep at it—and we’d call again day after to-morrow.
Ben returned to the land of the living that day and we went out to see the General in the afternoon. He said he had a wonderful time: “When you ain’t around to cramp my style, I just bowl over the mademoiselles like tin soldiers! There’s about ten thousand women in this burg that have been just waitin’ fer me to appear!”
“Gosh—you’ll have to work pretty fast, won’t you?” I observed.
“Boy,” he retorted, “I’m built for it! It’ll be hard work, but I ain’t the kind to disappoint the ladies. I can stand it, don’t worry.”
That man certainly had confidence in himself. I told him I guessed he was the “bull” in boulevard.
He said, “No wise cracks! I’m God’s answer to these mademoiselles’ prayers.”
What an answer! “Special delivery,” as it were! Not the message, but the messenger that counts ... but Ben couldn’t see any joke in that crack.