Middleton laughed as he thanked her. He knew which way the wind was setting with Thurston. He was staying with his cousins, he said. But he hoped Mrs. Dockett would be good enough to let him come to dinner some time and eat some of her fried chicken, which was the very best in all the world, as he knew by experience. Mrs. Dockett declared that he was flattering her; but this Middleton stoutly repudiated. He had said so in every country he had visited, and there was no reason why he should not say so now. In fact, he so flattered Mrs. Dockett that the good lady declared at the table that evening—gazing hard at Captain Thurston—that Captain Middleton was quite a model now that he no longer wore that horrid blue coat, but dressed like a gentleman. “By Jove! Larry,” said Thurston, “you’ve been acting on the lessons I gave you. You’ve captured the brigadier first charge. Keep on, and you may capture the whole army, my boy.”
“You blackguard!” said Middleton. “You yourself flatter and humbug every woman you meet, so that you think everyone else must be playing the same game.”
“Have you told the Senator’s daughter about the chickens in this country?” drawled Thurston.
For reply, Middleton shied a pillow across at his friend. “Of course I have, and how about you?”
“Oh! I like Mrs. Dockett’s chicken too.”
To Middleton’s surprise Thurston actually flushed a little.
“Reely!”
Thurston’s eyes twinkled, and he grew red.
“Well! And she?”