The constable turned upon him in astonishment, blowing out his cheeks and seeming to make his eyes roll, while his naturally rotund figure began more and more to assume the appearance of a fat cork float.
“Me! Me! Me go up there!”
“To be sure,” said the sergeant. “You country chaps are used to this sort of thing. My lads are not. Scaling ladders is more in our way, and they are bad enough when you have got to carry your Brown Bess.”
“To be sure,” said the gardener, chiming in, with a grin of satisfaction. “That’s right enough, sergeant. Up you go, Fatty!”
“You will get yourself into trouble, Joe Hanson,” said the constable pompously. “This here’s the second time I have warned you. You, sergeant—you know I can’t get up there at my time of life, and it’s your duty to send your men. I order you, in the King’s name, to search that roof.”
“Oh, very well,” said the sergeant gruffly. “Here, number one and two, stand your muskets up against the wall. No, one of you only. You, Jem Cogan; you are a light one. Up you go. You are not quite so heavy as the constable here.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed the gardener. “That’s a good one!” And he bent down to slap his knees, while, to the constable’s great disgust, the hoarse laugh was echoed in the shape of a titter uttered by the two maids, who had come to the back kitchen door.
Gusset blew out his cheeks again, and moved slowly towards the foot of the ladder, where, as the soldier placed his musket against the sill of one of the lower windows and then began lightly to ascend, Gusset set his feet very far apart, as if in imitation of the ladder, planted his fat hands upon his hips, and began to follow the private’s movements, leaning somewhat back the while.
All at once there was a quick movement in the little group round the foot of the ladder, for, partly moved by the spirit of mischief, as well as by the intense desire to create a diversion, Waller made a rush.
“Hold hard a minute, soldier!” he shouted. “I know the way best; let me come first.”