"Two of 'em are, but one's in the army."
"Indeed!" said Charles, with more interest.
"Ay; he is in your governor's regiment."
"Does he like it?" said Charles. "I should like to know him."
"Like it?—don't he?" said the coachman. "See what society he gets into. I suppose there ain't no gentlemen's sons troopers in that regiment, eh? Oh dear no. Don't for a moment suppose it, young man. Not at all."
Charles was very much interested by this news. He made up his mind there and then that he would enlist immediately. But he didn't; he only thought about it.
Charles found that the club was composed of about a dozen coachmen and superior pad-grooms. They were very civil to him, and to one another. There was nothing to laugh at. There was nothing that could be tortured into ridicule. They talked about their horses and their business quite naturally. There was an air of kindly fellowship, and a desire for mutual assistance among them, which, at times, Charles had not noticed at the university. One man sang a song, and sang it very prettily, too, about stag-hunting. He had got as far as—
"As every breath with sobs he drew,
The labouring buck strained full in view,"
when the door opened, and an oldish groom came in.
The song was not much attended to now. When the singer had finished, the others applauded him, but impatiently; and then there was a general exclamation of "Well?"