“Trouble, miss? Oh, my master again. He will never be happy till he is having the Rogues’ March played over him, and the buttons that I keep sewed on tighter than those of any man in his company cut off his beautiful uniform, and him drummed out as a disgrace to the regiment.”
“Dear, dear!” said Minnie. “I am very sorry, Mrs Smithers.”
“Yes; I knowed you would be, my dear, if you will forgive me for calling you so. You see, I have known you so long as such a dear, sweet young lady, with no more pride in you than there is in one of our Jenny-wrens at home.”
“But what is the matter, Mrs Smithers?” said Minnie hastily, in an effort to change the flow of the bronzed, burly woman’s words into another direction.
“You needn’t ask, my dear. The old thing.”
“What! surely not drinking again? I thought he had taken the pledge, and that Sergeant Ripsy had promised you that he would keep a sharp eye over your husband.”
“Oh yes, miss, that’s all right; and he daren’t go to the canteen, for they wouldn’t admit him. But what’s the use of that when he can manage to get some of that nasty rack, as they call it, from the first Malay fellow he meets? I’d like to rack ’em!”
“It’s such a pity,” said Minnie. “Such a good soldier as he is, too. I’ve heard Mr Maine say that there isn’t a smarter-looking man in his company; and my uncle praises him too.”
“Praises him, my dear!” said the woman, looking at the speaker round-eyed. “Praises him! A-mussy me, what for?”
“He says he’s such a fine-looking man.”