“He looks so devilish young!” said Carrington; “he can't be fifteen.”
“Possibly not fourteen,” said Pike; “but we'll shave his head and give him a wig. I'll answer for the 'make up;' and as I have had some experience of private theatricals, rely on 't he'll pass muster.”
“How will you dress him, Pike?”
“In livery,—a full suit of snuff-brown, lined with yellow; I 'll devote a large cloak I have to the purpose, and we 'll set the tailor at work to-day.”
“Is he to have shorts?”
“Of course; some of you must 'stand' silk stockings for him, for we shall have to turn him out with a good kit.”
A very generous burst of promises here broke in, about shirts, vests, cravats, gloves, and other wearables, which, I own it, gave the whole contrivance a far brighter coloring in my eyes than when it offered to be a mere lark.
“Will the rogue consent, think you?” asked Carrington.
“Will he prefer a bed and a dinner to nothing to eat and a siesta under the planks on the quays of Quebec?” asked Pike, contemptuously. “Look at the fellow! watch his keen eyes and his humorous mouth when he's speaking to you, and say if he would n't do the thing for the fun of it? Not but a right clever chap like him will see something besides a joke in the whole contrivance.
“I foresee he 'll break down at the first go-off,” said Carrington, who through all the controversy seemed impressed with the very humblest opinion of my merits.