"But it hurts so confoundedly," argued Sammy; "if it didn't, I shouldn't mind getting killed a bit!"
"Look at me," said Hugh John; "I'm all over peels and I don't complain."
"Oh! I dare say—it's all very well for you," retorted Sammy, "you like to fight, and it was you that began the fuss, but I only fight because you'd jolly-well-hammer me if I didn't!"
"Course I would," agreed his officer, "don't you know that's what generals are for?"
"Well," concluded Sammy Carter, summing the matter up philosophically, "'tain't my castle anyway."
The review was over. In the safe quiet of the elm-tree shelter General Napoleon might have been seen taking his well-earned repose. He was surrounded by his entire following—except, of course, the two Generals of Division, who were engaged in sweeping out the stable-yard. But these were considered socially supernumerary at any rate, except (a somewhat important exception) when there was fighting to be done.
"I don't see that we've done so very much to make a brag about anyhow," began Sammy Carter.
General Smith dexterously caught him on the ear with a young turnip, which in company with several friends had wandered in of its own accord from the nearest field on the home farm.