"Mayhap," said b.u.mpkin; "but he wurn't my 'ead witness and didn't work for I. Joe be my right hand man, although I keeps un down and tells un he beant fit for nothin'."

"Ha," said the Don, "he's not likely to go for a soldier, I think, if it's that good-looking young chap I saw with the kicking-straps on."

"Kickin'-straps," said b.u.mpkin; "haw! haw! haw! That be a good un. Well he told I he wur up to un and I think ur be: he'll be a clever feller if ur gets our Joe. Why Nancy ud goo amost out o' her mind. And now, sir, will thee 'ave any moore?"

Mr. O'Rapley, in the most decisive but polite manner, refused. He had quite gone out of his way as it was in the hope of serving Mr. b.u.mpkin.

He was sure that the thief would be convicted, and as he rose to depart seized his friend's hand in the most affectionate manner. Anything he could do for him he was sure he would do cheerfully, at any amount of self-sacrifice-he would get up in the night to serve him.

"Thankee," said b.u.mpkin; but he had hardly spoken when he was startled by the most uproarious cheers from the taproom. And then he began again about the folly of young men getting into the company of recruiting sergeants.

"Look here," said the Don, confidentially, "take my advice-say nothing-a still tongue makes a wise head; to persuade a man not to enter the army is tantamount to advising him to desert. If you don't mind, you may lay yourself open to a prosecution."

"Zounds!" exclaimed Mr. b.u.mpkin, "it seem to me a man in Lunnon be every minit liable to a prosecution for zummat. I hope sayin' that beant contempt o' Coourt, sir."

Mr. O'Rapley was silent-his head drooped towards Mr. b.u.mpkin in a semi-conscious manner, and he nodded three consecutive times: called for another "seroot," lit it after many efforts, and again a.s.suring Mr.

b.u.mpkin that he would do all he could towards facilitating his triumph over Snooks, was about to depart, when his friend asked him, confidentially, whether he had not better be at the Old Bailey when the trial came on, in case of its being necessary to call him.

"Shurel not!" hiccupped the Don. Then he pointed his finger, and leering at b.u.mpkin, repeated, "Shurel not;-jus swell cll Ch. Jussiself"-which being interpreted meant, "Certainly not, you might just as well call the Chief Justice himself."

"Pr'aps he'll try un?" said b.u.mpkin.

"Noer won't-noer won't: Chansy Juge mos likel Ma.s.sr Rolls."

CHAPTER XXV.

In spite of all warnings, Joe takes his own part, not to be persuaded on one side or the other-affecting scene between Mr. b.u.mpkin and his old servant.

"Whatever can that there shoutin' be for, Mrs. Oldtimes-they be terrible noisy."

"O," said the landlady, "somebody else has listed."

"I hope it beant that silly Joe. I warned un two or three times agin thic feller."

"There have been several to-night," said the landlady, who had scarcely yet recovered from the insinuations against the character of her house.

"How does thee know thic, my dear lady?"

"O, because Miss Prettyface have been in and out sewin' the colours on all the evening, that's all. Sergeant Goodtale be the best recrootin'

sergeant ever come into a town-he'd list his own father!"

"Would ur, now?" said b.u.mpkin. "Beant thee afeard o' thy husband bein'

took?"

Mrs. Oldtimes shrieked with laughter, and said she wished he would list Tom, for he wasn't any good except to sit in the chimney corner and smoke and drink from morning to night.

"And keep up th' Army," growled the husband

"Ha, keep up the Army, indeed," said Mrs. Oldtimes; "you do your share in that way, I grant."

Now it was quite manifest that that last cheer from the taproom was the herald of the company's departure. There was a great scuffling and stamping of feet as of a general clearing out, and many "good nights."

Then the big manly voice of the Sergeant said: "Nine o'clock, lads; nine o'clock; don't oversleep yourselves; we shall have chops at eight. What d'ye say to that, Mrs. Oldtimes?"

"As you please, Sergeant; but there's a nice piece of ham, if any would like that."

"Ha!" said the Sergeant; "now, how many would like ham?"

"I'se for a chop," said Joe, working his mouth as if he would get it in training.

"Right," said the Sergeant, "we'll see about breakfast in the morning.

But you know, Mrs. Oldtimes, we like to start with a good foundation."

And with three cheers for the Sergeant the recruits left the house: all except Joe, who occupied his old room.

After they were gone, and while Mr. b.u.mpkin was confidentially conversing with the landlord in the chimney corner, he was suddenly aroused by the indomitable Joe bursting into the room and performing a kind of dance or jig, the streamers, meanwhile, in his hat, flowing and flaunting in the most audaciously military manner.

"Halloa! halloa! zounds! What be th' meaning o' all this? Why, Joe!

Joe! thee's never done it, lad! O dear! dear!"

There were the colours as plain as possible in Joe's hat, and there was a wild unmeaning look in his eyes. It seemed already as if the old intimacy between him and his master were at an end. His memory was more a thing of the future than the past: he recollected the mutton chops that were to come. And I verily believe it was brightened by the dawn of new hopes and aspirations. There was an awakening sense of individuality.

Hitherto he had been the property of another: he had now exercised the right of ownership over himself; and although that act had transferred him to another master, it had seemed to give him temporary freedom, and to have conferred upon him a new existence.

Man is, I suppose, what his mind is, and Joe's mind was as completely changed as if he had been born into a different sphere. The moth comes out of the grub, the gay Hussar out of the dull ploughman.

"Why, Joe, Joe," said his old master. "Thee's never gone an' listed, has thee, Joe?"

"Lookee 'ere, maister," said the recruit, taking off his hat and spreading out the colours-"Thee sees these here, maister?"

"Thee beant such a fool, Joe, I knows thee beant-thee's been well brought oop-and I knows thee beant gwine to leave I and goo for a soger!"

"I be listed, maister."

"Never!" exclaimed Mr. b.u.mpkin. "I wunt b'lieve it, Joe."

"Then thee must do tother thing, maister. I tellee I be listed; now, what's thee think o' that?"

"That thee be a fool," said Mr. b.u.mpkin, angrily; "thee be a silly-brained-."

"Stop a bit, maister, no moore o' that. I beant thy sarvant now. I be a Queen's man-I be in the Queen's sarvice."

"A pooty Queen's man thee be, surely. Why look at thic hair all down over thy face, and thee be as red as a poppy."

Now I perceived that although neither master nor man was in such a state as could be described as "intoxicated," yet both were in that semi-beatific condition which may be called sentimental.

"Lookee 'ere, maister," continued Joe.