“Good night, good night, old friend,” replied Gaspard, stretching up a hand from his chair. “Yes, I shall sleep now.”
The Colonel touched Sleeman on the arm. “Come along,” he said quietly. As if wakened from a sleep; Sleeman rose, stretched himself and with a nod to Gaspard passed out into the falling evening. Together they walked their horses down the avenue of pines in silence.
“Wonderful performance that, Sleeman, eh?” said the Colonel when they had almost reached the road.
“Say, what was that little devil playing there? Ain’t he the limit? Say, he’s the limit.”
“He’s a wonderful chap. Made me feel as if I had been in church.”
“Say, ain’t he the limit? He made me feel like hell!”
The emotions were similar, the phraseology varying as the personality of the speaker.
When the men reached the parting of their ways the Colonel held out his hand. “Good night, Sleeman,” he said. “We’ve had a great afternoon.”
“Good night, sir,” replied Sleeman, with a new respect in his tone. “Say, ain’t he the very devil, eh?”
“That chap Sleeman isn’t a half had sort, after all,” the Colonel announced to his wife as he sat smoking his after dinner pipe.