“And now you have found me, Corporal Smith,” said the tenant of Cloomber, “what is it that you want of me?”
“Why, everything. I want a roof to cover me, and clothes to wear, and food to eat, and, above all, brandy to drink.”
“Well, I'll take you in and do what I can for you,” said the general slowly. “But look here, Smith, we must have discipline. I'm the general and you are the corporal; I am the master and you are the man. Now, don't let me have to remind you of that again.”
The tramp drew himself up to his full height and raised his right hand with the palm forward in a military salute.
“I can take you on as gardener and get rid of the fellow I have got. As to brandy, you shall have an allowance and no more. We are not deep drinkers at the Hall.”
“Don't you take opium, or brandy, or nothing yourself, sir?” asked Corporal Rufus Smith.
“Nothing,” the general said firmly.
“Well, all I can say is, that you've got more nerve and pluck than I shall ever have. I don't wonder now at your winning that Cross in the Mutiny. If I was to go on listening night after night to them things without ever taking a drop of something to cheer my heart—why, it would drive me silly.”
General Heatherstone put his hand up, as though afraid that his companion might say too much.
“I must thank you, Mr. West,” he said, “for having shown this man my door. I would not willingly allow an old comrade, however humble, to go to the bad, and if I did not acknowledge his claim more readily it was simply because I had my doubts as to whether he was really what he represented himself to be. Just walk up to the Hall, Corporal, and I shall follow you in a minute.”