"I reckon they must ha' stationed you here for a relay," suggested
Gunner Sobey (ever the readiest man, no matter in what company he
found himself) after eyeing the Major for a while.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I beg _yours_. Seemin' to me I've seen your features before,
somewhere, though I can't call up your name." It is a point of
honour with the men of Troy (I may here observe) to profess an
ignorance of their less-favoured neighbours across the harbour.
"I can't call up your name for the moment, dressed as you be--but
'twas thoughtful of 'em, knowing Tadd's habit, to post up a second
figger for a relay. The man seems to be shaken considerable," he
went on. "'Twould be a cruelty, as you might say, to ask him to go
on playin' Boney, with a wife and family dependent and his heart not
in it."
"He certainly isn't fit to mount again, if that is what you mean,"
said the Major, and glanced up the road where one of the troop
(Bugler Opie) had ridden in pursuit of the yellow horse and now
reappeared leading back the captive by the bridle.
"That's just what I'm saying," agreed Gunner Sobey; "and
you'll do very well if you change hats." He stooped and picked
Tadd-Bonaparte's _tricorne_ out of the dust and brushed it with the
sleeve of his tunic. "Here, let's see how you look in it."
He flipped off the Major's tarpaulin hat, clapped on the substitute,
and fell back admiringly.
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