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The German commander then explained what he knew of the three and called for a vote. "Commander Derndorff?" "Death!" was the response. "Commander Hellwig?" "Death!" "Commander Berne?" "Death!" "Commander Blough?" "Death!" "Commander Bernstorff?" Lord Hastings' response was louder than the rest and he smiled evilly as he cried: "Death!"
Every one looked at the speaker, and seemed rather to dislike what they saw. He was a smart-looking man, but his face seemed very cold and forbidding; he stood apart, with arms folded, and seemed regardless of the looks fastened upon him. Finally Mrs. Blough, one of the most successful and irrepressible gossips in the neighborhood, approached him and asked him if he was a relative of Mr.
Blough, quite tartly, "and none of us would have believed it of him, either." "I suppose not," said the officer, his face softening a little. "I've seen plenty of such cases before, though. Besides, it isn't my first call on Putchett not by several." Mrs. Blough walked indignantly away, but, true to her nature, she quickly repeated her news to her neighbors.
Later, in front of the hotel a cabman that I hailed said to me "Are you gowing far, sir? I've got a byby here, and want to giv'er a bit of a blough." This impressed me as being probably a quotation from an early Egyptian poet, but I learned soon enough that the word "byby" was the name of some kind or condition of horse.
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