“I say, Brummy, take him to the King’s Head, and we’ll join you.”
“Dan’l and Lambert,” thought Richard. “Why, it’s the fat sergeant coming after me; they’re laughing at him!”
But he did not turn his head to see, only went steadily on towards the gate, with his pulses beating rapidly once more, for the hope rose now that this man had repented and was, perhaps, going to enlist him, after all. Telling himself that it would be better to seem careless and independent, he kept on to the gate, passed out, and heard the steps still behind him, but so close now that he noticed a rather thick breathing. Then he started as if thrilled by an electric touch, for there came in sharp tones—
“Hold hard, my lad!” and then, in military fashion, “Halt! Right about face!”
Richard obeyed the order on the instant, and in such thorough soldierly style that the fat sergeant stared.
“Humph! Volunteers!” he muttered: and then, coming close up, he looked pleasantly in the lad’s face, and clapped him on the shoulder. “So you wanted to ’list, did you?” he said.
“Yes. Will you have me?”
“No, my lad,” said the sergeant, smiling. “I only wanted a word with you before you go into the town. I don’t want to pump you. We can see plain enough. We often get young customers like you.”
“I didn’t know I was too young,” said Richard, hoarsely.
“Nobody said you were, my lad; but you’re not our sort. We want a rougher breed than you.”