“Any news?”
The perfunctory question was answered as usual by: “nothing but the cannon.”
Trent sat down on the bed.
“Where on earth did you get that?” he demanded, pointing to a half-finished chicken nestling in a wash-basin.
West grinned.
“Are you millionaires, you two? Out with it.”
Braith, looking a little ashamed, began, “Oh, it’s one of West’s exploits,” but was cut short. by West, who said he would tell the story himself.
“You see, before the siege, I had. a letter of introduction to a “type” here, a fat banker, German-American variety. You know the species, I see. Well, of course I forgot to present the letter, but this morning, judging it to be a favorable opportunity, I called on him.
The villain lives in comfort;—fires, my boy!—fires in the anterooms! The Buttons finally condescends to:carry my letter and card up, leaving me standing in the hallway, which I did not like, so I entered the first room I saw and nearly fainted at the sight of a banquet on a table by the fire, Down comes Buttons, very insolent. No, oh, no, his master ‘is not at home, and in fact is too busy to receive letters of introduction just now; the siege, and many business difficulties———’
“I deliver a kick to Buttons, pick up this chicken from the table, toss my card on to the empty plate, and addressing Buttons as a species of Prussian pig, march out with the honors of war.”
Trent shook his head.
“I forgot to say that Hartman often dines
