“But you know the French accent, perhaps?” said the clerk.
“Well do I do that!” said I. “The French accent? Why, I believe I can tell a Frenchman in ten words.”
“Here is a puzzle for you, then!” he said. “I have no material doubt myself, but some of these gentlemen are more backward. The lack of education, you know. I make bold to say that a man cannot walk, cannot hear, and cannot see, without the blessings of education.”
He turned to the Major, whose food plainly stuck in his throat.
“Now, sir,” pursued the clerk, “let me have the pleasure to hear your voice again. Where are you going, did you say?”
“Sare, I am go—ing to Lon—don,” said the Major.
I could have flung my plate at him to be such an ass, and to have so little a gift of languages where that was the essential.
“What think ye of that?” said the clerk. “Is that French enough?”
“Good God!” cried I, leaping up like one who should suddenly perceive an acquaintance, “is this you, Mr. Dubois? Why, who would have dreamed of encountering you so far from home?” As I spoke, I shook hands with the Major heartily; and turning to our tormentor, “O, sir, you may be perfectly reassured! This is a very honest fellow, a late neighbour of mine in the City of Carlisle.”