“Contemptibly it may have been, but not in cold blood, for did you not say you were roused to a state of frenzied alarm at the sight of the bobby? and assuredly, although unhung as yet, you are not uncondemned, if self-condemnation counts for anything. Come, don’t take such a desponding view of the matter. We shall see the whole affair in the morning papers before sailing, with a report of the old lady’s name and condition—I mean condition of health—as well as your unmanly flight, without leaving your card; so you’ll be able to start with an easy— Ha! a cab! yes, it’s Jackman. I know his manservant,” said Mabberly, as he looked out at the window.
Another moment and a broad-chested man, of about five-and-twenty, with a bronzed face—as far as hair left it visible—a pair of merry blue eyes, and a hearty manner, was grasping his old schoolfellows by the hand, and endeavouring to trace the likeness in John Barret to the quiet little boy whom he used to help with his tasks many years before.
“Man, who would have thought you could have grown into such a great long-legged fellow?” he said stepping back to take a more perfect look at his friend, who returned the compliment by asking who could have imagined that he would have turned into a Zambezian gorilla.
“Where’ll I put it, sor?” demanded a voice of metallic bassness in the doorway.
“Down there—anywhere, Quin,” said Jackman turning quickly; “and be off as fast as you can to see after that rifle and cartridges.”
“Yes, sor,” returned the owner of the bass voice, putting down a small portmanteau, straightening himself, touching his forehead with a military salute, and stalking away solemnly.
“I say, Giles, it’s not often one comes across a zoological specimen like that. Where did you pick him up?” asked Mabberly.
“In the woods and forests of course,” said Jackman, “where I have picked up everything of late—from salary to jungle fevers. He’s an old soldier—also on sick-leave, though he does not look like it. He came originally from the west of Ireland, I believe; but there’s little of the Irishman left, save the brogue and the honesty. He’s a first-rate servant, if you know how to humour him, and, being a splendid cook, we shall find him useful.”
“I hope so,” said Mabberly, with a dubious look.
“Why, Bob, do you suppose I would have offered him as cook and steward if I had not felt sure of him?”