At this moment was a knock and, the door opening, the Sergeant advanced two paces and stood at attention:
"Your honour," said he.
"Ha, Zeb," exclaimed the Colonel, fixing him with fierce, blue eye, "ho, Sergeant Zeb, what the dooce is a petticoat?"
The Sergeant stared at his lordship, stared at the ceiling, scratched smooth-shaven chin with thoughtful finger and spoke.
"A petticoat, m' lud, is a article as a woman can't very well go without and a man shouldn't—and won't!"
The Colonel set down his glass, threw back his head and roared with laughter till he stamped. "Aha—oho!" he cried at last, sprinkling snuff over himself and everything within reach. "O Gad, Zeb, ya' right, ya' right—must remember that. D'ya hear that, Jack—oho—aha!" And he roared again while the Major smiled, chuckled, and despite rib and bandages, laughed until Sergeant Zebedee anxiously bade him have a care, and announced that Sir Benjamin Tripp, Lord Alvaston, Mr. Marchdale, Sir Jasper and Captain West had ridden over to see him and enquire after his health.
"Why then let 'em in, Zeb—let 'em in," said the Major a little breathlessly, "and bring up a half-dozen or so of the yellow seal——"
"The yellow—ha!" sighed the Colonel, "if the same as last time 'tis bottled sunshine, 'twill warm the very cockles o' ya' heart, man——"
"Nay, George——"
"Tush, Jack—an you don't drink, I don't——"