"Astonishing!" said the Major.
The Sergeant mopped his brow and sighed.
"Prisoner having bolted and altogether went, sir—same being vanished, though suspecting witches and hocus-pocus, must hold myself responsible for same——"
"No, no, Zeb."
"And feel myself defaulter, sir, owing to which shall stop and deny myself customary ale to-day, sir."
"Very good, Zeb."
"And talking of ale, sir, think it my dooty to report as in the 'George and Dragon' last evening Sir Oliver Rington were talking agin' you, sir—very fierce."
"I'm not surprised, Zeb, his kind must talk."
"Same person, sir, made oncommon free wi' your name, laying thereto certain and divers eppythets, sir, among which was 'vulgar fellow' and 'beggarly upstart' which me overhearing was forced to shout 'damn liar' as in dooty bound, sir. Whereupon his two grooms, wi' five or six other rogues, took me front, flank and rear and run me out into the road. Whereupon, chancing to have pint-pot in my hand, contrived with same to alter the faces o' two or three of 'em for time being, as in dooty bound, sir. All of which has caused more talk which I do truly lament."
"A pint-pot is an awkward weapon, Zebedee!"