Brown major sat nursing his leg, and revolving possibilities. "Suppose bad comes of this, Shrewsbury?—what about you two?"
"What do you call bad?"
"Why, if they should get shot—killed. You might be taken up and put in prison."
Of course it was not a pleasant suggestion. "They'll not give it up," said Leek, with a rueful look.
"Suppose you gave up, Onions; you and the earl?"
"They'd get other fellows for seconds, and call us cowards."
"I don't like those French prisons," gloomily observed Brown major. "If once you get in, you never know when you'll get out. We knew a man who was put in one for ten years."
"What had he done?"
"He owed some money; nothing else. When he had been in about two years, his friends in England clubbed together and got him out. My father was one. You should hear what he says of the place. They serve up the soup in a bucket."
"Nice!" cried Leek.