“That must have been delightful to your feelings.”
“Not very.”
“Why not? revenge is sweet.”
“So it is; but as the Cornet forgot to order him to take me off, I got the worst of the drubbing. I was dreadfully cut about. Two buttons fearfully lacerated—nothing but the shanks left.”
“How did it end?”
“The valet mentioned something about wages and assault warrants, so I was given to him to make the matter up. Between you and I, the Cornet was very hard up.”
“Indeed!”
“Certain of it. You remember the French-grey trousers we used to walk out with—those he strapped so tight over the remarkably chatty and pleasant French-polished boots whose broken English we used to admire so much?”
“Of course I do; they were the most charming greys I ever met. They beat the plaids into fits; and the plaids were far from ungentlemanly, only they would always talk with a sham Scotch accent, and quote the ‘Cotter’s Saturday Night.’”
“Certainly that was a drawback. But to return to our friends, and the Cornet’s friends, they must have been bad, for those very greys were seated.”