“Ring for lights, there’s a good fellow,” said Major Hyde.
Languidly the fop arose and did as requested; in a few moments the fine old apartment was yellowed with candle-light. Major Hyde sat back in the corner of a sofa and studied young Prentiss with speculative eyes. Noting this, Henderson turned to the young New Englander and said:
“These days keep some of you fellows on the jump, eh?”
“I’ve used up three horses in the last fortnight,” said George, “and I did what I could to save them, too. And others have been kept moving more briskly than I, by all accounts.”
“It seems the very deuce to get things settled for a fight,” complained the fop. “I always fancied it was a very simple arrangement—one side here and the other side there, and then go at it like all possessed. But it’s really like the plot of a play; everything must be settled and accounted for before a blow is struck.”
A rattling volley of thunder rolled along the sky; then a dash of lightning lit up all outdoors and showed them Crown Street running torrents of water.
“Of late,” said young Prentiss, “I have seen but little of either of you.”
“We’ve been with Greene,” answered Major Hyde. “Indeed, within the week that we invited you to share our quarters in Wall Street, we were forced to give it up and transfer to a barn of a place beyond Brooklyn.”
“Not fit for beasts to live in, let alone gentlemen,” said the dragoon officer. “I assure you,” earnestly, “I’ve never been asked to put up with such accommodations before.”
George Prentiss had no great tolerance for complaints of this character; popinjay soldiers who required to lie soft and live at their ease were scarcely the sort to win battles. But he answered smilingly: