“Promoted!” exclaimed I; “why Grinnerson said I should be in luck if I got my commission in five years.”
The captain put a Gazette into my hand, doubled it up in a compact form, and, striking a particular portion con spirito with his forefinger, “Read that,” said he.
I took it in a sort of ecstacy, caught a glimpse of my own name. Yes—there I was, actually in print: “Mr. Gernon, appointed by the Honourable Court of Directors a cadet on this establishment, having reported his arrival at Fort William, is admitted to the service accordingly, and promoted to the rank of ensign.”
“Yoics! full ensign!” shouted I, springing up, snapping my fingers, and capering round the room arms a-kimbo, hip and toe, like a sailor dancing a hornpipe, to the infinite astonishment of Marpeet, who thought I had been bitten by a scorpion or snake.
“Hey! hey! what’s the matter Gernon? are you mad, you Griff, are you mad?”
“I am mad, old square-toes; come along,” said I, hauling him out of his chair; “come and rejoice with me. Promoted already! Yoics! Tally-ho!”
In the midst of our uproar and saraband, Grundy entered, and gazed with open mouth, like one moonstruck, at our mad dervish dance. His appearance, however, calmed any ebullition, and pushing Marpeet into his seat, I sunk into mine.
“What’s the matter?” said he.
“Why, I’m promoted, my honest young ploughshare,” said I, “that’s all; we were footing a jig on the strength of it. I dare say you will find your name there too.”
“Oh, yes,” observed Marpeet; “the whole batch of the last griffs are in the general orders. There,” added he, tossing the paper to Grundy, “you’ll find yourself there, farmer, at full length.”