“Well, S’Richard, it’s making very bold like; but I can’t help liking you, sir, and ’fore long you’ll be passing and getting appointed to your regiment; and as I’ve got a great taste for soljering myself, I thought I’d ask you to take me with you.”
“You—you want to be a soldier, Jerry?”
“Yes, sir. Why not?” said the man, drawing himself up, and brushing the tuft of hair over the top of his forehead, so that it stood up fiercely, and gave his whole head some resemblance to the conventional naming shell of military ornamentation. “Of course, I couldn’t think of a military eddication and going to a coach, S’Richard, and passing; but lots of chaps have risen from the ranks.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said the young man, who looked more bored and fidgety; “but I don’t think I ought to promise to take you, Jerry. I don’t know that I shall pass and get my commission.”
“Oh, yes, you will, sir.”
“Of course, I should like to have you with me, Jerry, because you understand me so well.”
“I do, S’Richard; and I allus feel proud o’ doin’ for you. I often watches you when you goes out, and I says to myself, ‘Look at him! I cut him, and brushed him, and shaved him’—not as there’s much to shave yet, sir.”
“No, Jerry,” said the young man, passing his hand over his upper lip and chin; “it’s rather a work of supererogation at present.”
“A what, sir?”
“Work of supererogation, Jerry.”