O'Sheevo.—Sure, that's very ungrateful of you, when we've all been talking for your edification.
Pipeclay.—Patience, Lovell, patience; you can't learn all the art of war in a minute; follow the thing up, and you'll know all about it by-and-by. A death vacancy'll be giving me my step, some of these days, and I should like to throw my mantle over you, I confess.
O'Sheevo.—D'ye, mean that seedy old cloak that you've used these last fifteen years? if any one was to throw such a thing over me, I should consider it a personal affront.
Pipeclay.—You're so literal, Major.
O'Sheevo.—Ye're wrong there; I never composed any thing in my life, more to be blushed for than punch or sangree, and there's nothing literal in them except their being liquids.
Pipeclay.—But I meant if Lovell could be eligible to succeed me in the adjutancy.
O'Sheevo.—Oh! Lovell'll do very well by-and-by; those duties of yours are a little unpalatable at first; but by working at them they become easier, and an effort beyond that will make you do them quite involuntarily.
Pipeclay.—There's encouragement for you, Lovell; the Major thinks you'll do, and I've great hopes of you myself.
Lovell.—You're very good, I'm sure. Military discussions interest me much; I'm only anxious to hear you go on.
Pipeclay.—It's getting late now; another time we'll resume the subject.