"Your compliment last, sir," said I, "comes in the proper place. Allow me to designate it as it deserves—the ass's kick."
Pledget turned a little pale, and drew up; said something that seemed to stick in his throat, about "lions roaring, and asses braying."
We were on the edge of a regular tiff. The general garrulity dropped into a dead silence, and the whole party looked concerned. The Colonel at once interposed, and insisted on our shaking hands. This operation was performed accordingly, as in such cases provided, with immense cordiality on both sides.
"Captain Gabion, I'll trouble you for a dollar," said the Major.
"No, no; I'll trouble you for a dollar," replied the Captain.
"How do you make that out?" said the Major. "You've lost; that's evident."
"What do you mean by lost?" said Captain Gabion. "Didn't I make Mr Y— sing three songs within the given time? Hadn't I two minutes over, when he finished the last? Weren't they all three Portuguese? I took good care of that. Wasn't that our bet?"
"Yes, Captain; all right," said the Major. "But one of your songs was Spanish. That was an infringement."
"Didn't understand any condition of that sort," replied Captain Gabion. "All the party heard the bet. Let the company decide."
One said one thing, one another. By common consent it was referred to Gingham, who had held his tongue. Gingham decided that the Captain had lost.