“Ay,” asserted Brereton. “The general uses us hard, Tilghman, but he uses himself harder.” Then aloud he called, “Billy!”
"Yis, sah!"
“Make a glass of rum punch and take it in to his Excellency."
“Foh de Lord, sah, I doan dar go in, an’ yar know marse neber drink no spirits till de day’s work dun.”
“Make a dish of tea, then, you old coward, and I’ll take it to him so soon as I get these slops off me. ’Fore George! How small-clothes stick when they ’re wet!”
“You mean when a man ’s so foppish that he will have them made tight enough to display the goodness of his thighs,” rejoined Gibbs, who, being dry, was enjoying the plight of the rest. “Make yourselves smart, gentlemen, there are ladies at quarters to-night.”
“You don’t puff that take-in on us, sirrah,” retorted Tilghman.
“’Pon honour. They arrived a six hours ago, and have been waiting to see the general.”
“You may be bound they are old and plain,” prophesied Brereton, “or Gibbs would be squiring them, ’stead of wasting time on us.”
“There you ’re cast,” rejoined the major, “I caught but a glimpse, yet ’t was enough to prove to me that all astronomers lie.”