“Very well,” said Richard.
“No, it isn’t, my lad. You take a bit of good advice: be off back home—sharp! Don’t stop in the town here, or you’ll get picked up. There’s a lot outside ready to be down upon you, and they’ll humbug and promise everything till they’ve sucked every shilling you’ve got out of you and made you sell your watch.”
Richard’s hand went sharply to his chain, and the sergeant laughed.
“I know what it is: bit of a row at home, and you’ve cut off to ’list; and, if you could have had your way, you’d have done what you’d have given anything to undo in a month.”
There was something so frank and honest in the plump, good-humoured face before him that Richard’s hand went out directly.
“Shake hands? Of course,” said the sergeant, grasping the lad’s. “White hand!—Ring on it!” he cried, laughing, “There! go back home.”
Richard snatched his hand back, colouring deeply, like a girl.
“Thank you!” he said. “You mean well, sergeant; but you don’t know all.”
“And don’t want to. There, don’t stop in the town; get off at once.”
“I’m going to have some dinner,” said Richard. “Come and have something with me.”