“Come out into the Park,” said Torpenhow. “You haven't stirred out since the beginning of things.”
“What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,”—he paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,—“something will run over me.”
“Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.”
The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to Torpenhow's arm. “Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!” he said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. “Let's curse God and die.”
“Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there are the Guards!”
Dick's figure straightened. “Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look. Let's get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.”
“Mind the low railing. That's all right!” Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of grass with his heel. “Smell that,” he said. “Isn't it good?” Dick sniffed luxuriously. “Now pick up your feet and run.” They approached as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made Dick's nostrils quiver.
“Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Felt it. Oh, my men!—my beautiful men!” He edged forward as though he could see. “I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?”