“Mind your own business, you moon-snuffing omedhaun, and let the lad do as he plases,” said the Irishman.
“I’ve only this one shilling and fivepence in copper, or I would pay for two or three gallons of beer,” said I.
“Do you live in Sheffield?” inquired the orderly.
“I came here from W—, to enlist, but they say I’m not tall enough,” said I.
“And what are you going to do next?”
“’List in another regiment,” said I.
“S’pose you don’t pass the doctor, what shall you do then?”
I had never thought of that, and therefore could only say I didn’t know.
I now began to see the extent of my folly in leaving home in such a pitiable plight, without money or friends. If I did not enlist and pass the doctor, only fivepence would stand between me and absolute starvation. The orderly no doubt perceived my embarrassment.
“I’ll not hev any ale to-night. Hand me that pitcher of water there beside you,” said he.