“Bread of idleness, I reckon,” said another, “is sweeter to you, young fellow, than any other, whether white or brown, fine flour or seconds, with a glass of summat strong occasionally to scare the cold off your stomach.”
“Gentlemen,” said Tom, “it’s no idle affair, I can assure you, to shuffle from town to town with a lame leg;”—and Tom drew his right foot in with an expression of well-affected pain in his face. “You’ve heard, no doubt, of the old man on his death-bed that his wife was giving a lot of messages to carry to her relations in the next world, when he interrupted her with, ‘Hold thy tongue, old woman; dost think I can go stumping all over heaven with my lame leg to carry thy gossip?’ That man knew, gentleman, what a burden a lame leg is.”
The farmers, who had evidently never heard of the stumping about heaven story before, laughed heartily.
“How did you get lamed, young man?” asked one.
“In service, sir.”
“What, you’ve bin a sodger, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ay, ay, that’s where you’ve picked up your knowledge. Now I see. I reckon you’ve learned th’ Eleventh Commandment?”
“No,” said Tom, “what’s that?”
“Not know that, an bin a sodger? Why, th’ Eleventh Commandment is—‘As new debts come on so fast, thou shalt not pay the old ’uns.’”