Part 87 (2/2)
”Damer or Skeffy--I don't care a rush which--only tell me where are we going, and what are we going for?”
Skeff proceeded in leisurely fas.h.i.+on, but with a degree of cold reserve that he hoped might check all freedom, to explain that he was in search of a young countryman, whom he desired to recall from his service with Garibaldi, and restore to his friends in England.
”And you expect me to cross over to Garibaldi's lines?” asked M'Caskey, with a grin.
”I certainly reckon on your accompanying me wherever I deem it essential to proceed in furtherance of my object. Your General said as much when he offered me your services.”
”No man disposes of M'Caskey but the Sovereign he serves.”
”Then I can't see what you have come for!” cried Skeff, angrily.
”Take care, take care,” said the other, slowly.
”Take care of what?”
”Take care of Skeffington Darner, who is running his head into a very considerable sc.r.a.pe. I have the most tenacious of memories; and there's not a word--not a syllable--falls from you, I 'll not make you accountable for hereafter.”
”If you imagine, sir, that a tone of braggadocio--”
”There you go again. Braggadocio costs blood, my young fellow.”
”I'm not to be bullied.”
”No; but you might be shot.”
”You 'll find me as ready as yourself with the pistol.”
”I am charmed to hear it, though I never met a fellow-brought up at a desk that was so.”
Skeff was by no means deficient in courage, and, taken with a due regard to all the conventional usages of such cases, he would have ”met his man” as became a gentle-man; but it was such a new thing in his experiences to travel along in a carriage arranging the terms of a duel with the man who ought to have been his pleasant companion, and who indeed, at the very moment, was smoking his cheroots, that he lost himself in utter bewilderment and confusion.
”What does that small flask contain?” said M'Caskey, pointing to a straw-covered bottle, whose neck protruded from the pocket of the carriage.
”Cherry brandy,” said Skeff, dryly, as he b.u.t.toned the pocket-flap over it.
”It is years upon years since I tasted that truly British cordial.”
Skeff made no reply.
”They never make it abroad, except in Switzerland, and there, too, badly.”
Still Skeff was silent.
”Have you got a sandwich with you?”
”There is something eatable in that basket,--I don't know what,” said Skeff, pointing to a little neatly corded hamper. ”But I thought you had just finished supper when I drove up.”
”You 're a Londoner, I take it,” said M'Caskey.
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