All this was shouted by Mercer as we approached the cottage door, and had the effect of bringing out a stiff-looking, sturdy, middle-aged man with a short pipe in his mouth, which he removed, carried one hand to his forehead in a salute, and then stood stiff and erect before us, looking sharply at me.
“Mornin’, gentlemen,” he said.
“Morning,” cried Mercer. “’Tention! Parade for introductions. This is Field-Marshal Commander-in-Chief Drill-master and Riding-master Lomax. This is Burr junior, new boy, come to see you. I say, Lom, he’s going to be a soldier. His father was a soldier in India. He was killed at what’s-its-name?—Chilly winegar.”
“Eh?” cried the old soldier. “Glad to see you, sir. Shake hands, and welcome to your new quarters. Come inside.”
“No, not now, I’m showing him round. We’ll come another time, and bring you some tobacco, and you shall tell us the story about the fight with the Indian rajahs.”
“To be sure I will, lads. Where are you going now?”
“Going? Let’s see. Oh, I know. We’ll go to Polly Hopley’s.”
“Ah, I suppose so. You boys are always going to Polly Hopley’s. Good-bye.”
He shook hands with us, then drew himself up and saluted us ceremoniously, and, as I glanced back, I could see him still standing upright in his erect, military fashion.
“You’ll like old As-you-were,” said Mercer, as we went on, now along the road. “The Doctor got hold of him cheap, and he does all sorts of things. Cuts and nails the trees, and goes messages to the town. He’s a splendid chap to get things for you.”