"
"Scoundrel!"
"Rascal! But he was discovered--he reeled home drunk. _I_, that is, as
it's known, _we_ make the men. The Cornet saw him, and thrashed him
soundly with a three-foot Crowther."
"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.
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