"
"What d'ye say to that, Tom Sheridan?" asked Charles.
"The oracle of Delphi could not have spoken better, sir," replied Sir
Thomas.
"Damn your oracle of Delphi, you old rascal," cried the Prince, with
great good-humour. "That's a crumb of the mouldy bread of learning you
used to cram down my throat in the old days. It makes Master Wheatman
writhe to hear it. The only advantage I ever got out of being a Prince was
that old Tom here never dared thrash me for gulping up his rubbish."
"Master Wheatman knows Latin enough to stock a couple of bishops, sir,"
said the Colonel.
"The devil he does!" said Charles admiringly. "He'll come in handy for
writing me a letter to His Holiness."
"It's not such bad stuff as all that, sir," said I, glad of a chance of
saying something, for I had been hurt to the quick by talk that reminded
me of how I had quizzed Jack's classics in Old Comfit's entry.
"To come back to the Colonel's advice," said Charles. "I've split 'em up
and now I'm going to smash 'em in detail. We're not going back, sirs, if I
can help it. Master Wheatman,"--and here he naturally and unaffectedly
took on a princely tone--"we appoint you our assistant aide-de-camp, and
desire your attendance on our person during the day, under the more
immediate authority of our excellent friend, Colonel Waynflete.
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