“And the fortune to make, I expect,” replied Patrick.
“You’ve just hit it but haven’t you the whole world before you to pick and choose?”
“Well,” replied Patrick, after a pause; “I’ve no objection.”
“No objection! Why don’t you jump out of your skin with delight? At all events, you might jump high enough to break in the caling.”
“There’s no ceiling to break,” replied Patrick, looking up at the rafters.
“That’s true enough; but still you might go out of your seven senses in a rational sort of a way.”
“I really can’t see for why, father dear. You tell me I’m to leave my poor old mother, who doats upon me; my sisters, who are fond of me; my friends here,” patting the dogs, “who follow me; the hills, that I love; and the woodcocks, which I shoot; to go to be shot at myself, and buried like a dead dog, without being skinned, on the field of battle.”
“I tell you to go forth into the world as an officer, and make your fortune; to come back a general, and be the greatest man of your family. And don’t be too unhappy about not being skinned. Before you are older or wiser, dead or alive, you’ll be skinned, I’ll answer for it.”
“Well, father, I’ll go; but I expect there’ll be a good deal of ground to march over before I’m a general.”
“And you’ve a good pair of legs.”