Maynard’s ears were becoming rapidly hot.
“What was he on your side?” inquired the junior of Swinton’s new acquaintances, who appeared quite as curious as the older one.
“What was he! Aw—aw, faw that matter nothing—nothing.”
“No calling, or profession?”
“Wah, yas; when I knew the fellaw he was an ensign in an infantry wegiment. Not one of the cwack corps, yaw knaw. We should not have weceived him in ours.”
Maynard’s fingers began to twitch.
“Of course not,” continued the “swell.”
“I have the honaw, gentlemen, to bewong to the Gawds—Her Majesty’s Dwagoon Gawds.”
“He has been in our service—in one of the regiments raised for the Mexican war. Do you know why he left yours?”
“Well, gentlemen, it’s not for me to speak too fweely of a fellaw’s antecedents. I am usually cautious about such matters—vewy cautious, indeed.”