“He will attack them,” he declared valiantly. “He will attack them as soon as possible.”
The portly man snorted his disgust.
“Attack them,” he repeated scornfully. “But plague on it, sir, what will he attack them with? I am no military man, but I know that he can’t move on them with his bare hands. To attack successfully,” and the stout palm of the speaker struck the bench with a resounding whack, “he must have artillery—heavy artillery.”
The thin-faced man had no reply to make to this. But the gray-haired major spoke in his stead.
“You may be no military man, as you say, sir,” said he, “but you are quite right, for all. To reach Gage in his den we must have guns that will throw great weight a long distance.”
The portly man’s red face glistened with triumph.
“Sir,” said he cordially, “it is a great satisfaction to speak to a man of understanding. You have the intelligence, apparently, to grasp a situation. And I ask you, sir, as a man of intelligence,” impressively, “where those guns are to come from?”
It was the gray-haired major who now shook his head.
“You have a faculty of asking difficult questions, I perceive, sir,” laughed he. “And that is one which I must allow to pass me by.”
More and more triumphant grew the gentleman with the red face.