_Tom_ (_excited_). A--what is he wanted for? _Bul._ Much. _Tom._ Yes, but what--what? _Bul._ It is a weird tale. Wild horses shouldn’t drag it from me. _Tom._ But, hang it, you can trust _me_. _Bul._ (_takes his hand_). General, I think I can--but I’m sure I won’t. _Tom._ But why do you object? _Bul._ Major-General Fitzpatrick, had you the password of some leaguered town, and an enemy, armed to the teeth, demanded that word at the pistol’s mouth, what would you do? _Tom._ Tell him at once without a moment’s hesitation. _Bul._ Then am I made of doughtier stuff. Sir, I hate my employers, I loathe their unholy practices, but--I respect their secrets. Good day; I go to them. [_Exit BULSTRODE._ _Tom._ So it seems I’ve had my head in the lion’s mouth for the last three months without knowing it! Well, well--there is a grim justice in the fact that my punishment will be brought about through the employers of the son of the husband of the mother of the young woman to whom I was to have been married. _Enter COLONEL O’FIPP._ _O’Fi._ Now, sorr, ye’ve expressed a wish for an audience. On consideration I have resolved to grant it. _Tom._ You’re very good, Colonel. _O’Fi._ You may say that, sorr, for I have discovered that ye’re an imposthor. An out and out imposthor, sorr! Ye’re no more a gineral officer than I’m a gineral postman. _Tom._ But I never said I was. _You_ said I was a major-general; and you ought to know. It isn’t for me to set up my opinion on a military matter against a lieutenant-colonel’s. _O’Fi._ Sorr, I’m a soft-hearted, simple ould fool, and at first your military bearing deceived me practised oi, and I was moved to pity by yer plausible tale and yer broken boots. I was touched by yer sorrows, and I was disposed to try and heal them. _Tom._ The boots? _O’Fi._ The sorrows. Now, sorr, a lie has ever been me scorrn and aversion, and an imposture me deepest abhorrence. _Tom._ Colonel, I respect your sentiments, for they are my own. You discontinue my allowance, and you are quite right. Your hand. _O’Fi._ (_rather surprised_). Sorr, ye spake like a gintleman. Ye’re not a gintleman, but ye spake like one. (_Sees note in TOM’S hand._) What’s that? _Tom._ It’s a letter to Docket and Tape, in which I confess myself to be the Tom Cobb they’re advertising for,--and offering to give them all the information in my power. _O’Fi._ But ye’re niver goin’ to send that? _Tom._ I’m going to send it directly. _O’Fi._ Ye’re doin’ it to frighten me. _Tom._ Frighten a colonel? I wouldn’t presume to attempt it! _O’Fi._ But---- Oh! ye’ll niver sind it--it would ruin ye. _Tom._ It’ll ruin us all. (_Rings._) _O’Fi._ No, no--they can’t touch me, mind that! I’m a simple ould man; it’s well known, and aisy done. Don’t send that, Tom Cobb, and I’ll pay ye the pound a week; damme, I’ll double it--treble it! I’m a simple ould soldier, and I’m fond of ye, Tom, and I’ll not let ye ruin yeself for me!