"Oh, I was thinking that if anything happened to you to-night you might like to say how your things are to be disposed of. You've got a gold watch, haven't you?"
"Yes," said Peabody nervously.
"And a little money, I suppose."
"Not very much, Mr. Miles."
"No matter about that. Of course if you are killed you won't have occasion for it," said Miles, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," said Peabody irritably. "It makes me nervous."
"What's the use of being nervous? It won't do any good."
"Do you really think, Mr. Miles, there is much danger?" faltered Peabody.
"Of course there is danger. But the post of danger is the post of honor. Now, Peabody, I want to give you a piece of advice. If you spy one of those red devils crouching in the grass, don't stop to parley, but up with your revolver, and let him have it in the head. If you can't hit him in the head, hit him where you can."
"Wouldn't it be better," suggested Peabody, in a tremulous voice, "to wake you up, or Mr. Fletcher?"