“O-ho!” he muttered, scanning the message; “well—well, it’s not so bad as all that—” He turned abruptly on Kelly Eyre—“What the devil are you scaring the governor for?”
“Well, he’s got to be told—I didn’t mean to worry him,” said Eyre, stammering, ashamed of his thoughtlessness.
“Now see here, governor,” said Speed, “let’s all have a drink first. Hé ma belle!”—to the big Breton girl knitting in the corner—“four little swallows of eau-de-vie, if you please! Ah, thank you, I knew you were from Bannalec, where all the girls are as clever as they are pretty! Come, governor, touch glasses! There is no circus but the circus, and Byram is it’s prophet! Drink, gentlemen!”
But his forced gayety was ominous; we scarcely tasted the liqueur. Byram wiped his brow and squared his bent shoulders. Speed, elbows on the table, sat musing and twirling his half-empty glass.
“Well, sir?” said Byram, in a low voice.
“Well, governor? Oh—er—the telegram?” asked Speed, like a man fighting for time. 185
“Yes, the telegram,” said Byram, patiently.
“Well, you see they have just heard of the terrible smash-up in the north, governor. Metz has surrendered with Bazaine’s entire army. And they’re naturally frightened at Lorient.... And I rather fear that the Germans are on their way toward the coast.... And ... well ... they won’t let us pass the Lorient fortifications.”
“Won’t let us in?” cried Byram, hoarsely.
“I’m afraid not, governor.”