‘You are not going, Mr Pinch?’ said Tigg.
‘Thank you,’ answered Tom. ‘Yes. Don’t come down.’
‘Do you know that I should like one little word in private with you Mr Pinch?’ said Tigg, following him. ‘One minute of your company in the skittle-ground would very much relieve my mind. Might I beseech that favour?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ replied Tom, ‘if you really wish it.’ So he accompanied Mr Tigg to the retreat in question; on arriving at which place that gentleman took from his hat what seemed to be the fossil remains of an antediluvian pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his eyes therewith.
‘You have not beheld me this day,’ said Mr Tigg, ‘in a favourable light.’
‘Don’t mention that,’ said Tom, ‘I beg.’
‘But you have not,’ cried Tigg. ‘I must persist in that opinion. If you could have seen me, Mr Pinch, at the head of my regiment on the coast of Africa, charging in the form of a hollow square, with the women and children and the regimental plate-chest in the centre, you would not have known me for the same man. You would have respected me, sir.’
Tom had certain ideas of his own upon the subject of glory; and consequently he was not quite so much excited by this picture as Mr Tigg could have desired.
‘But no matter!’ said that gentleman. ‘The school-boy writing home to his parents and describing the milk-and-water, said “This is indeed weakness.” I repeat that assertion in reference to myself at the present moment; and I ask your pardon. Sir, you have seen my friend Slyme?’
‘No doubt,’ said Mr Pinch.