“If I was a soldier I'd sleep with my sword.”
“Well, you'd find it a mighty uncomfortable bedfellow,” I answered, laughing. At which he laughed too, and we were fast becoming friends.
“Will you be a soldier?” I went on.
“I don't know. What's your name?”
“One moment, my young diplomat. Do you never answer a question but by asking another? Surely you're not a Scotchman?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, what do you think you are?”
“I think I'm a Methodist.”
“So you are. But that may be much the same thing, for aught I know. My name's Captain Geraldine. Now tell me yours.”
“Christopher. Can you sing?”