“And so I will, sir; you see if I don't.”
“You read, Mr. Giles?” Susan had told Mr. Eden his name at the threshold.
“Yes, sir; but I can't abide them nasty little prints they bring me.”
“Of course you can't. Printed to sell, not to read, eh? Here is a book. The type is large, clear and sharp. This is an order-book, corporal. It comes from the great Captain of our salvation. Every sentence in it is gold; yet I think I may safely pick out a few for your especial use at present.” And Mr. Eden sat down, and producing from his side pockets, which were very profound, some long thin slips of paper, he rapidly turned the leaves of the Testament and inserted his markers; but this occupation did not for a moment interrupt his other proceedings.
“There is a pipe—you don't smoke, I hope?”
“No, sir; leastways not when I han't got any baccy, and I've been out of that this three days—worse luck.”
“Give up smoking, corporal, it is a foul habit.”
“Ah, sir! you don't ever have a half-empty belly and a sorrowful heart, or you wouldn't tell an old soldier to give up his pipe.”
“Take my advice. Give up all such false consolation, to oblige me, now.”
“Well, sir, to oblige you, I'll try; but you don't know what his pipe is to a poor old man full of nothing but aches and pains, or you wouldn't have asked me,” and old Giles sighed. Susan sighed, too, for she thought Mr. Eden cruel for once.