“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.
“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 Bumpkin. “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. Bumpkin 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!”