"Cai Tamblyn . . .?"
"Miss Marty!"
"What on earth are you doing there at this time of night?"
"Sentry-go."
"Nonsense. What do I want of a sentry?"
"You never can tell."
"Are you here by the Major's order?"
"Ch't!" answered Cai Tamblyn. "_Him!_"
"Then go away, please, and let me beg you to speak more respectfully
of your master."
"I reckon," said Cai, slowly, "you don't know that, barrin' the
nigger under the stairs, this here town's as empty as my hat.
Well, a man can but die once, and if the French come, let 'em; that's
all I say. Good night, miss."
"The town empty?"
"Males, females and otherwise, down to Miss Jex at the post-office."
(Cai Tamblyn nursed an inveterate antipathy for the post-mistress.
He alleged no reason for it, save that she wore moustaches, which was
no reason at all, and a monstrous exaggeration.) "There's Miss Pescod
gone, and Miss Tregentil with her maid."
"But where? Why?"
"Up the river. Gallivantin'. That's what I spoke ye for, just now.
Mind you, I don't propose no gallivantin'; but there's safety in
numbers, and if you've a mind for it, I've the boat ready by the
Broad Slip."
"But what foolishness!"
"Ay," Mr. Tamblyn assented. "That's what I said to the Doctor when
he first mentioned it. 'What foolishness,' I said, 'at _her_ time o'
life!' But then we never reckoned on the whole town goin' crazed.
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