Part 3 (2/2)
”Have you thought about uniform?”
”No, I have not settled at all. I thought of letting the men fix upon one of their own choice.”
”Do nothing of the sort,” Captain Barclay said. ”The men will only think of what is most becoming, or picturesque. You cannot do better than fix upon some good, serviceable uniform of a dark-grayish color; something similar to that of some of our English Volunteer Corps. I will give you a drawing of it.
”Let the tunics be made of a thick and good cloth. Let the men have short trousers--or, as we call them, knickerbockers--with leather gaiters and lace boots. The shoes of your soldier are altogether a mistake. I will bring you a sketch, tomorrow; and you will see that it is neat, as well as serviceable.”
”Thank you.
”By the way, I suppose that you have no objection to my mentioning, at the meeting this evening, that your sons have joined? If there should be any inclination to hang back--which I hope there will not be--the fact that your boys have joined may decide many who would otherwise hesitate.”
”Certainly.
”I will not detain you longer, at present. I shall see you in a day or two, and any a.s.sistance which I can give is at your service.”
”Thanks very much. I only wish that you could go with us.
”Goodbye. Tell the boys that their names are down, and that we shall begin drill in a day or two.”
Chapter 3: Death To The Spy!
The next morning Madame Duburg arrived, at ten o'clock; an hour at which she had never, as far as Mrs. Barclay knew, turned out of her house since her marriage. She was actually walking fast, too. It was evident that something serious was the matter.
Mrs. Barclay was in the garden, and her visitor came straight out from the house to her.
”Is anything the matter?” was Mrs. Barclay's first question.
”Yes, a great deal is the matter,” Madame Duburg began, vehemently.
”You and your English husband are mad. Your wretched boys are mad.
They have made my sons mad, also; and--my faith--I believe that my husband will catch it. It is enough to make me, also, mad.”
Notwithstanding the trouble in which Mrs. Barclay was, at the resolution of her sons, she could scarcely help smiling at the excitement of Madame Duburg; the cause of which she at once guessed. However, she asked, with an air of astonishment:
”My dear sister-in-law, what can you be talking about?”
”I know what I say,” Madame Duburg continued. ”I always said that you were mad, you and your husband, to let your boys go about and play, and tear and bruise themselves like wild Indians. I always knew that harm would come of it, when I saw my boys come in hot--oh, so unpleasantly hot, to look at--but I did not think of such harm as this. My faith, it is incredible. When I heard that you were to marry yourself to an Englishman, I said at once:
”'It is bad, harm will come of it. These English are islanders.
They are eccentric. They are mad. They sell their wives in the market, with a cord round their neck.'”
”My dear sister-in-law,” Mrs. Barclay interrupted, ”I have so often a.s.sured you that that absurd statement was entirely false; and due only to the absolute ignorance, of our nation, of everything outside itself.”
”I have heard it often,” Madame Duburg went on, positively. ”They are a nation of singularities. I doubt not that it is true, he has hidden the truth from you. True or false, I care not. They are mad.
For this I care not. My faith, I have not married an Englishman.
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