“A British officer,” continues Captain Grace, with great energy but doubtful articulation, “never neglects a toast of that sort, nor any other duty. A man who refuses to drink the health of the Duke—hang me, such a man should be tried by a court-martial!”
“What means this language to me? You are drunk, sir!” roared Colonel Washington, jumping up, and striking the table with his fist.
“A cursed provincial officer say I'm drunk!” shrieks out Captain Grace. “Waring, do you hear that?”
“I heard it, sir!” cried George Warrington. “We all heard it. He entered at my invitation—the liquor called for was mine: the table was mine—and I am shocked to hear such monstrous language used at it as Colonel Washington has just employed towards my esteemed guest, Captain Waring.”
“Confound your impudence, you infernal young jackanapes!” bellowed out Colonel Washington. “You dare to insult me before British officers, and find fault with my language? For months past, I have borne with such impudence from you, that if I had not loved your mother—yes, sir, and your good grandfather and your brother—I would—I would—” Here his words failed him, and the irate Colonel, with glaring eyes and purple face, and every limb quivering with wrath, stood for a moment speechless before his young enemy.
“You would what, sir?” says George, very quietly, “if you did not love my grandfather, and my brother, and my mother. You are making her petticoat a plea for some conduct of yours—you would do what, sir, may I ask again?”
“I would put you across my knee and whip you, you snarling little puppy, that's what I would do!” cried the Colonel, who had found breath by this time, and vented another explosion of fury.
“Because you have known us all our lives, and made our house your own, that is no reason you should insult either of us!” here cried Harry, starting up. “What you have said, George Washington, is an insult to me and my brother alike. You will ask pardon, sir!”
“Pardon?”
“Or give us the reparation that is due to gentlemen,” continues Harry.