The
Sergeant was so deeply interested that he held up his hand, and signed
to me not to interrupt the discussion, when I came in. As far as I could
understand it, the question between them was, whether the white moss
rose did, or did not, require to be budded on the dog-rose to make
it grow well. Mr. Begbie said, Yes; and Sergeant Cuff said, No. They
appealed to me, as hotly as a couple of boys. Knowing nothing whatever
about the growing of roses, I steered a middle course--just as her
Majesty's judges do, when the scales of justice bother them by hanging
even to a hair. "Gentlemen," I remarked, "there is much to be said on
both sides." In the temporary lull produced by that impartial sentence,
I laid my lady's written message on the table, under the eyes of
Sergeant Cuff.
I had got by this time, as nearly as might be, to hate the Sergeant. But
truth compels me to acknowledge that, in respect of readiness of mind,
he was a wonderful man.
In half a minute after he had read the message, he had looked back into
his memory for Superintendent Seegrave's report; had picked out that
part of it in which the Indians were concerned; and was ready with his
answer.
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