The soldier of fortune drew on his wet boots and stood up.
“Sir,” observed he, his legs wide apart and his thumbs hooked in his belt, “you seem to have very little notion as to the value of time. We have but a few hours to go about the business of saving the colonial army.”
The youthful officer started at this. But there was that in the hectoring tone of Gilbert Scarlett which he did not like. So he frowned and said sharply:
“If you have anything to impart my commission, issued by the Provincial Congress, makes me a proper person to hear it.”
That the speaker was right, even though unnecessarily stubborn, Ezra saw at once. But with the hot-headed adventurer it was a different matter.
Without more ado, he whipped out his long sword, and addressed the lieutenant with careless superiority.
“Step to one side,” directed he, “and have your fellows do the same, or I’ll contrive a piece of work for you that none of you will forget.”
The lieutenant spoke swiftly to his men. They threw forward their rifles; and Ezra had just sprung between them and Scarlett when there came a quiet, chuckling voice, saying:
“Hot work, Master Prentiss! Hot work, upon my word!”
All eyes went toward the point from where the voice proceeded; and all, even to the angry Scarlett and the stubborn lieutenant, burst into a laugh.