CLEVELAND. Pshaw!
SOLDIER. This fellow attempted to pass without the countersign.
METCALF. You see, sir, I was just about to enter to call on my friend, Mr. Elsworth, to sip an afternoon glass with him, when a big-booted fellow cried out, halt. Now, sir, the idea of asking a man well in both legs to halt, is preposterous. So I said, and walked on as straight as I could, when bang, bum, whiz, came one, two, three bullets scattering after my hide—
CLEVELAND. Have done, sir. [To WALTER.] I am desirous of giving you, sir, every opportunity to disprove your identity with Captain Armstrong. I chance to know that gentleman's handwriting. There is a desk with pen and ink. Will you stand that test?
WALTER. [Aside to ROSE.] That would never do. There isn't one of my pot-hooks that wouldn't hang me.
ROSE. [Quickly.] Really, Major Cleveland, you might require a more reasonable test. Don't you see the Captain has a rheumatic hand?
CLEVELAND. For a rheumatic hand, Miss Elsworth, he handled his sword somewhat skilfully, just now. You see, sir, resistance is useless. You will resign your sword, I trust.
[The two SOLDIERS, at a sign from CLEVELAND, have come up behind WALTER. He is seized.
WALTER. Ha! I am your prisoner, sir.
Enter MR. ELSWORTH and HARRY.