“Forgive me, captain. I did not understand the movement,” replied Somers, extending his hand.
“With all my heart,” replied the captain, taking the proffered hand. “We don’t always know who our best friends are.”
“Perhaps not; but I know that you are one of my best friends. You have just given me another reason for wishing you did not——” Somers hesitated, not thinking it exactly fair to reproach his companion for his vile habit, after he had rendered him such a signal service.
“Lie,” added De Banyan, finishing the sentence.
“Perhaps it isn’t exactly lying; you don’t mean to deceive any one. At the worst, they are only white lies. Now, captain, don’t you think you exaggerate sometimes?”
“Well, perhaps I do; my memory is rather poor. I don’t carry my diary with me.”
“Don’t you think it would be better if you could confine yourself to the exact truth?” added Somers, who really felt a deep interest in his associate.
“I think it very likely it would; but things get a little mixed up in my mind. My memory is poor on details. Just after the battle of Magenta, while I was lying wounded on the ground, one of the emperor’s staff rode up to me, and asked how many cannon my regiment had captured. To save my life, I couldn’t tell whether it was two hundred or three hundred. My memory is very treacherous on details.”
“I believe you are hopeless, captain,” laughed Somers.
“Hopeless?”