“Have you ever been in Portsmouth before?” asked the shabby-genteel man, on reaching a part of the town which was more open and less crowded.
“Never. I had no idea it was so large and bustling,” said Miles.
“The crowding and bustling is largely increased just now, of course, in consequence of the war in Egypt,” returned the man. “Troops are constantly embarking, and others returning. It is a noble service! Men start in thousands from this port young, hearty, healthy, and full of spirit; they return—those of them who return at all—sickly, broken-down, and with no spirit at all except what they soon get poured into them by the publicans. Yes; commend me to the service of my Queen and country!”
There was a sneering tone in the man’s voice which fired his companion’s easily roused indignation.
“Mind what you say about our Queen while in my company,” said Miles sternly, stopping short and looking the man full in the face. “I am a loyal subject, and will listen to nothing said in disparagement of the Queen or of her Majesty’s forces.”
“Bless you, sir,” said the man quickly, “I’m a loyal subject myself, and wouldn’t for the world say a word against her Majesty. No more would I disparage her troops; but, after all, the army ain’t perfect, you know. Even you must admit that, sir. With all its noble qualities there’s room for improvement.”
There was such an air of sincerity—or at least of assumed humility—in the man’s tone and manner that Miles felt it unjustifiable to retain his indignation. At the same time, he could not all at once repress it, and was hesitating whether to fling off from the man or to forgive him, when the sound of many voices, and of feet tramping in regular time, struck his ear and diverted his attention. Next moment the head of a regiment, accompanied by a crowd of juvenile admirers, swept round the corner of the street. At the same instant a forest of bayonets gleamed upon the youth’s vision, and a brass band burst with crashing grandeur upon his ear, sending a quiver of enthusiasm into the deepest recesses of his soul, and stirring the very marrow in his bones!
Miles stood entranced until the regiment had passed, and the martial strains were softened by distance; then he looked up and perceived that his shabby companion was regarding him with a peculiar smile.
“I think you’ve a notion of being a soldier,” he said, with a smile.
“Where is that regiment going?” asked Miles, instead of answering the question.