The Corporal responded,—“I don’t know,—he gave me a card. Here it is.”
I looked over the Corporal’s shoulder and read, Lieutenant P——n.
The Scotchman asked,—“Don’t you have to show your papers?”
“Yes, to those who have the right to see them.”
“Who are they?”
“The gendarmes, the commissaire, and the proper officials.”
Then, that smooth Scotchman slipped one over on me,—“Look here, soldier, don’t be foolish. Think of yourself and look at us—we would look like hell getting into a row with a French soldier, with this crowd about, wouldn’t we? If you don’t want to go to the English court, let’s go to the French commissaire and get the damned thing over with.”
I replied, “You are engaged in a lovely business, aren’t you? You permit German officers, who are fighting in the German army against Great Britain, to retain their titles in the English House of Lords; and you come over to France and arrest your ally, the French common soldier.”
“We had to mind orders, ma lad, ’E don’t doubt ye’re a’ richt.”
The Corporal put in, “I’m not so sure about that.”