On each side of him sat
a soldier, also smoking and ruminating.
At the mess table a dozen or so whiled away the time at cards.
The wavering lights of the candle and hearth cast warring
shadows on the wall and floor, and the gun and saber racks
twinkled. If the players spoke, it was in tones inaudible to the
Captain's ears.
"Our bread and butter," said the Captain softly, "are likely to
take unto themselves the proverbial wings and fly away."
No one replied. The Captain was a man who frequently spoke his
thoughts aloud, and required no one to reply to his disjointed
utterances.
"A soldier of fortune," he went on, "pins his faith and zeal to
standards which to-day rise and to-morrow fall. Unfortunately,
he takes it at flood tide, which immediately begins to ebb."
The men on either side of him nodded wisely.
"The king can no longer speak. That is why the archbishop has
dismissed the cabinet. While he could speak, his Majesty refused
to listen to the downfall of his enemies. Why? Look to heaven;
heaven only can answer. How many men of the native troops are
quartered in these buildings? Not one--which is bad.
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