“Arrah, she wants yez to foight a blackguard or two that’s guv’ her impidence.”
“They have! I’m yer boy for a shindy. Where are they, colonel?”
“Not far off. And, by the way, she sent ye this bran new shillin’ with her best respex to ye, Pat; and sez I’m to axe ye what you’ll take to drink her health in; so come along, my lad.”
Patrick did come along, and of course was duly and willingly enlisted by his new friend, who promised him honour, and glory, and riches enough to make a commander-in-chief’s mouth water.
My new master, perhaps, was fond of making himself out a greater simpleton than he really was. At any rate, he appeared to believe every word the recruiting officer told him. And having no friends to say good-bye to, and no luggage to pack up, and no money (unless he pawned me) to spend, he was ready for marching orders immediately. To my surprise, he showed no desire now to dispose of me.
“What ’ud I want to give him up?” he said to himself as he held me in his hand. “Shure he’ll be handy to tell the toime by on the faylde of battle.” And with this satisfactory assurance he put me back in his pocket, which, greatly to my relief, was not the one which contained that asthmatic pocket-comb.
Patrick had not to leave for his depot till next day, and took a long stroll through the streets of Seatown along with the recruiting officer this evening. He was in high spirits and very proud of being a soldier, so the sergeant had very little difficulty in keeping him in good humour. Indeed, he stood that officer in good stead once; for encountering a compatriot acquaintance, a likely sort of fellow too, he helped her Majesty’s army to a fine recruit.
“Here, Larry, ye blackguard,” called he, “here’s a gentman axing for yez.”
Larry, a hulking sheepish young Irishman, did not look particularly happy at this information, and replied,—
“And what’s to prevent him axing?”