"Not about you, sir, I hope with all my heart."
Mr. Jakes met the young man's flashing eyes, with a gaze that replied—"You don't scare me," and drew his chair close enough to study every feature. If the young man was full of wrath, so was the old man—implacable wrath, at the outrage to his Colonel.
"Well, tell your pack of lies"—Fox was driven beyond himself, by the other's suspicious scrutiny—"oh, I beg your pardon, you believe them true, of course. But out with your stuff, like a man, sir!"
"It is your place to prove it a pack of lies;" said the old man, with his shaggy eyebrows rigid as a line of British bayonets; "and if you can't, by the God who made me, I'll run my old sword through your heart."
"Rather hard upon me. Not got it here, I hope. Half an hour for repentance, while you fetch it out of some cheese-toasting rack. A nice man to teach the youth of Perlycross! What a fool you are, Jakes! But that you can't help. Even a fool though may try to be fair. During your long time in the wars, were you ever accused wrongfully, my friend?"
"Yes, sir, a score of times. And I like your spirit. If you did what they say of you, you would be a cur. Every evil name you call me makes me think the better of you."
"I will call you no more; for I want no favour. All I want is truth about this cursed outrage. Am I to wait all night for it? Now just tell your tale, as if your were sitting at the Ivy-bush. You have been in command of men, no doubt—just command yourself."
"That I will," said the veteran with an upward glance—"not like the Ivy-bush, but as before the Lord. Sir, I will command myself, as you recommend; and perhaps you would be none the worse, for taking your own medicine."
"Jakes, you are right. It is enough to turn me savage. But you shall not hear me speak again, until you have finished."
"It was just like this, sir," began the Sergeant, looking round for a glass, by force of habit, and then ashamed of himself for such a thought just now; "everybody in this parish knows how much I thought of Colonel Waldron; for a better and a braver man never trod this earth. Even Parson Penniloe will have to stand behind him, when the last muster cometh; because he hath not served his country. But I never was satisfied with any of you doctors. You may be very well in your way, Mr. Fox, for toothing, or measles, or any young complaint; but where is your experience in times of peace? And as for that hang-dog looking chap from London—well, I won't say what I thought of him; for I always keep my own opinions to myself. But I knew it was all over with our poor Colonel, the moment I clapped eyes on that fellow. Why, I went myself at once, and begged the Colonel to have him drummed out of the parish to the rogue's tattoo. But the good Colonel only laughed, and shook my hand—the last time it was, sir, the very last time.