"
"Hem!- oh well!- quite la meme cho-o-ose, as we say in France.
Smith, eh? Brigadier-General John A. B. C.? I say"- [here Mr. S.
thought proper to put his finger to the side of his nose]- "I say, you
don't mean to insinuate now, really and truly, and conscientiously,
that you don't know all about that affair of Smith's, as well as I do,
eh? Smith? John A-B-C.? Why, bless me, he's the ma-a-an-"
"Mr. Sinivate," said I, imploringly, "is he the man in the mask?"
"No-o-o!" said he, looking wise, "nor the man in the mo-o-on."
This reply I considered a pointed and positive insult, and so left
the house at once in high dudgeon, with a firm resolve to call my
friend, Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy account for his ungentlemanly
conduct and ill breeding.
In the meantime, however, I had no notion of being thwarted touching
the information I desired. There was one resource left me yet. I would
go to the fountain head. I would call forthwith upon the General
himself, and demand, in explicit terms, a solution of this
abominable piece of mystery. Here, at least, there should be no chance
for equivocation. I would be plain, positive, peremptory- as short
as pie-crust- as concise as Tacitus or Montesquieu.
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