Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 7, 2025
Battersleigh pointed a long finger at Franklin, then turned it upon himself, tapping with import upon his forehead. "Look at me, at Batty," he said. "Here is where gaynius comes in, me friend. I may be far from the home that bore me God prosper them that knows it now! and I may be a bit behind with me allowance; but never yet was Batty without the arms and the appar'l of a gintleman.
The horse-holders were crowding up closer. There were bows drawn forward over the shoulders of many young men, and arrows began to shiver on the string under their itching fingers. Once more Franklin felt that the last moment had come, and he and Battersleigh still pressed back to the wagons where the rifles lay.
The visible seats were also boxes, two or three in number. Upon one of these sat Battersleigh, busy at his writing. Upon the table lay his whip, gloves, and hat, in exactly the same order as that which had been followed in the little chamber in the city. A strip of canvas made a carpet upon the hard earthen floor. A hanging cloth concealed a portion of the rear end of the tent.
Colonel Battersleigh was always a striking figure, the more so by reason of his costume, which was invariably the same. His broad cavalry hat, his shapely varnished boots, his gauntlets, his sweeping cloak, made him fairly historic about the clubs. His air, lofty, assured, yet ever suave, showed that he classified himself cheerfully as being of the natural aristocracy of the earth.
When quite happy Battersleigh always sang, and very often his song was the one he was singing now, done in a low nasal, each verse ending, after the vocal fashion of his race, with a sudden uplift of a sheer octave, as thus: "I-I-I-'d dance li-i-i-ke a fa-a-a-iree-ee-ee, For to see ould Dunlear-e-e-e-e-e! I-I-I-'d think twi-i-i-ice e-e-e-r-r I-I-I-'d lave it, For to be-e-e-e-e a drag-o-o-n."
As they sat for a moment silent there came the sound of approaching hoof-beats, and presently the cracking and popping of the feet of a galloping horse fell into a duller crunch on the hard ground before the door, and a loud voice called out, "Whoa-hope, Bronch! Hello, in the house!" "Come in, Curly," cried Battersleigh. "Come in. We've business of importhance this mornin'."
Franklin's forethought had provided the houses of himself and Battersleigh with proper fuel, and he was quite ready to listen to Curly when the latter suggested that it might be a good thing for them to follow the usual custom and go out on a hunt for the buffalo herd, in order to supply themselves with their winter's meat.
One morning Battersleigh was at work at his little table, engaged, as he later explained, upon the composition of a letter to the London Times, descriptive of the Agrarian Situation in the United States of America, when he was interrupted by a knock at his door. "Come in, come in, Ned, me boy," he exclaimed, as he threw open the door and recognised his visitor. "What's the news this mornin'?"
As it was, the "grand march" was over, and Battersleigh was again walking along the lines in company with his friend Franklin, before either could have been said to have noticed fully these strangers, whom no one seemed to know, and who sat quite apart and unengaged.
"This isn't my pie, Battersleigh," said Franklin, "but if anything has gone wrong with those apples it'll take more than a little diplomacy to get you out of the trouble."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking