"
He glanced disdainfully at the smooth face and careful dress of
their visitor, who bore the inspection with a kindly return of
contempt.
"I've no desire to try," he said; "but he reminds me very strongly
of some one I knew in England. What do you call him - Monty?"
Trent nodded.
"Never heard any other name," he said.
"Have you ever heard him speak of England?" Francis asked.
Trent hesitated. What was this newcomer to him that he should give
away his pal? Less than nothing! He hated the fellow already, with
a rough, sensitive man's contempt of a bearing and manners far above
his own.
"Never. He don't talk."
Captain Francis moved a step towards the huddled-up figure breathing
heavily upon the floor, but Trent, leaning over, stopped him.
"Let him be," he said gruffly. "I know enough of him to be sure
that he needs no one prying and ferreting into his affairs. Besides,
it isn't safe for us to be dawdling about here. How many soldiers
have you brought with you?"
"Two hundred," Captain Francis answered shortly.
Trent whistled.
"We're all right for a bit, then," he said; "but it's a pretty sort
of a picnic you're on, eh?"
"Never mind my business," Captain Francis answered curtly; "what
about yours? Why have you been hanging about here for me?"
"I'll show you," Trent answered, taking a paper from his knapsack.
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