“Yes, sir,” said Jones, reforming his pronunciation of that unaccustomed word. “He said it twiced.”
“What were they doing?”
“Blamed if I—beg the captain’s pardon—they looked like they was waitin’ fer me to git out.”
“Go on—go on. How many were there?”
“Seven, sir. There was Governor Ballard and Mr. Hewley and—well, them’s all the names I know. But,” Jones hastened on with eagerness, “I’ve saw them five other fellows before at a—at—” The corporal’s voice failed, and he stood looking at the captain.
“Well? Where?”
“At a cock-fight, sir,” murmured Jones, casting his eyes down.
A slight sound came from the room where Tuck was seated, listening, and Paisley’s round gray eyes rolled once, then steadied themselves fiercely upon Jones.
“Did you notice anything further unusual, corporal?”
“No, sir, except they was excited in there. Looked like they might be goin’ to hev considerable rough house—a fuss, I mean, sir. Two was in their socks. I counted four guns on a table.”