The sentry, however, who was a person in every way worthy of the friendship of Mr Bags, expressed no gratitude for the considerate offer, but began poking at the bundle with his bayonet.
“Hands off, Bill,” said Bags; “they won’t abear touching.”
“Let’s see ’em,” said Bill.
“Not a bit on it,” said Bags; “they ain’t aworth looking at.”
“Suppose I was to call the sergeant of the guard,” said Bill.
“You wouldn’t do such a action?” said Bags, in a tone strongly expressive of disgust at such baseness. “No, no, Bill, you ain’t that sort of fellow, I’m sure.”
“It’s my dooty,” said the sentry, placing the butt of his musket on the ground, and leaning his elbow on the muzzle. “You see that what you said, Tongs, was very true, about its being hard upon me to be carrying about this here damnable weppin” (slapping the barrel of the musket) “all day for fourpence ha’penny, while you are making your fortin. It is, Tongs, d——d hard.”
“Never mind; there’ll be plenty left to-morrow,” said Bags in a consolatory tone.
“What shall we say, now, if I lets ye hide it?” said Bill, pointing to the bundle. “Half-shares?”