Come, Mr.--a--a--pray, what 's your name, sir?'
'Butler, ma'am,' said Waverley, resolved rather to make free with the
name of a former fellow officer, than run the risk of detection by
inventing one not to be found in the regiment.
'Oh, you got a troop lately, when that shabby fellow, Waverley, went
over to the rebels. Lord, I wish our old cross Captain Crump would go
over to the rebels, that Nosebag might get the troop!--Lord, what can
Bridoon be standing swinging on the bridge for? I'll be hanged if he
a'nt hazy, as Nosebag says.--Come, sir, as you and I belong to the
service, we'll go put the rascal in mind of his duty.'
Waverley, with feelings more easily conceived than described, saw
himself obliged to follow this doughty female commander. The gallant
trooper was as like a lamb as a drunk corporal of dragoons, about six
feet high, with very broad shoulders, and very thin legs, not to mention
a great scar across his nose, could well be. Mrs. Nosebag addressed
him with something which, if not an oath, sounded very like one, and
commanded him to attend to his duty. 'You be d--d for a--,' commenced
the gallant cavalier; but, looking up in order to suit the action to
the words, and also to enforce the epithet which he meditated, with an
adjective applicable to the party, he recognized the speaker, made his
military salaam, and altered his tone.
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