"We had better eat our dinner," said the lieutenant: "it is growing late.—Come and have some dinner, Washington."
Washington seemed not quite sure that he understood correctly. He had a modest distrust of his English. In the matter of an invitation to dinner doubt is admissible. "You—want me—" here George Washington tapped himself on the savage breast—"eat—with you?" And here, gracefully reversing his hand, with the index extended, he touched the lieutenant on the civilized bosom.
"Yes: come in."
We three entered the tent. As it was an ordinary "A" tent, with a sheet-iron stove in it, it was pretty full with the addition of two good-sized white men and an Indian of no contemptible proportions. The lieutenant and I sat on the blankets, camp-fashion: Washington sat on my heavy riding-boots, with the stove perforce between his legs.
"Good wahrrm!" ejaculated George Washington, hugging the stove.
"Hustleburger!" shouted the lieutenant.
"Yes, sir."
"George Washington will take dinner with us. Set the table for three."
"All right, sir, lieutenant!"
"Good man—docther," Washington remarked, nodding several times to emphasize his observation: "ver'—good man—docther."