The men stood fast, looking at him in a half-amused, good-tempered way, as if he was not the first by many a one who had approached them in that fashion, and the keen-faced man said in quick, decisive tones the words which ended one of the boy’s difficulties—
“Well, my lad, want to ’list?”
Only those few hours ago and people touched their hats to him and said, “Sir Richard;” now it was, “Well, my lad, want to ’list?” But he answered promptly—
“Yes; I want to enlist.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the sergeant, looking him over keenly, and grasping him by the arm as if he were a horse for sale. “How old are you?”
“Turned seventeen.”
“Hah! Yes,” said the sergeant, with a keen look; “old story, eh? Run away from home?”
Richard’s face turned scarlet.
“That’ll do, my lad; don’t tell any crackers about it. See these chaps just brought in?”
“Yes.”