“No, sir, it wasn’t you,” said Jerry, grinning; “and it only shows how easy we can make mistakes. You see now, sir? It was the morning gun.”
Chapter Thirty Six.
A Secret’s Limit.
“He might have told me,” Jerry said to himself. “I’ve done all I could for him, and kep’ his secret when I’ve felt at times as if I must shout out ‘Sir Richard’ all over the barracks. I call it mean: that’s what I call it—mean! It ain’t as if I hadn’t shown him as he might trust me. I should have said a deal to him in a fatherly sort o’ way to show him that it wasn’t the kind o’ thing for a gen’leman to do. I should have pointed out to him as he did wrong last time in going off, and what a lot of injury it did him; and he knew it, or else he wouldn’t have kep’ it so close, and gone without letting me know. But once bit twice shy, and I’m not going to be bit again. I’m not going to break my heart fancying he’s made a hole in the water. That’s what set me thinking about the lieutenant as I did. If he wasn’t one of the easiest-going bits o’ human machinery as ever lived, he’d have been awfully nasty with me for serving him as I did. No, I’m not going to humbug after S’Richard; and I’m not going to worry. I was ready to be friends if he liked to trust me; but he didn’t, and there it ends.”
Jerry sat sunning himself outside the officers’ quarters as he mused in this way, and felt a bit resentful against Dick as he went on.
“I know where he’s off to. He’s gone to see some lawyer fellow up in town to get advice, and he’ll have to pay for it. I could have given him just as good, and he could have had it free, gratus, for nothing; but stuff as people don’t have to pay for they think ain’t worth having. Hullo! here comes Dan’l Lambert. Mornin’!”
“Morning,” said Brumpton, rather gruffly, as he halted in front of Jerry, with his battered bombardon in his hand, evidently on his way from the band-room to the sergeants’ quarters.