“War, sir? Nonsense! You don’t call a bit of a riot got up by some ragged Jacks war.”
“No; but this is getting to be a very serious affair, according to what Master Pawson told my mother this morning.”
“Master Pawson, sir! Why, what does he know about it?”
“A good deal, it seems. Some friends of his in London send him news, and they said it is going to be a terrible civil war.”
“And me not up there with Sir Granby!” groaned the man. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! it’s a wicked, rusty old world!”
“But I’ve promised to help my mother all I can, Ben, and you must promise to help me.”
“Of course, sir; that you know. But say, sir, war breaking out, and we all rusted up like this! We ought to be ready for anything.”
“So I thought, Ben; but my mother says there’s not likely to be trouble in this out-of-the-way place.”
“Then bless my dear lady’s innocence! says Ben Martlet, and that’s me, sir. Why, you never knows where a spark may drop and the fire begin to run.”
“No, Ben.”