The subject continued.

As soon as the conversation on the remarkable circumstance recorded in the last chapter had drifted into another subject no less remarkable, and the Sergeant had finished his pipe, the beautiful being appeared with the rump steak and onions, a snowy white cloth having been previously spread at the end of one of the tables. When all was ready, it looked as nice and appetizing as could well be conceived. The most indifferent man there seemed the Sergeant himself, who, instead of rushing to the chair provided for him, walked as coolly up to the table as though he were going into action. Then he took the knife, and seeing it had not quite so sharp an edge as he liked, gave it a touch or two on the stone hearth.

The smell of that tobacco from Yokelton had been sweet; so had the perfume from the whiskey toddy and the lemon; but of all the delicious and soul-refreshing odours that ever titilated human nostrils, nothing surely could equal that which proceeded from the rump steak and onions. The fragrance of new mown hay, which Cowper has so beautifully mentioned, had palled on Joe’s senses; but when would the fragrance of that dish pall on the hungry soul?

The Sergeant took no notice of the hungry looks of the company; he was a soldier, and concentrated his mind upon the duties of the moment. Sentimentality was no part of his nature. He was a man, and must eat; he was a soldier, and must perform the work as a duty irrespective of consequences.

“Do you mind my smoke?” asked Harry.

“Oh dear, no,” said the Sergeant; “I like it.”

Joe stared and watched every bit as the Sergeant cut it. He looked admiringly on the soldier and so lovingly at the steak, that it almost seemed as if he wished he could be cut into such delicious morsels and eaten by so happy a man. What thoughts passed through his mind no one but a dreamer could tell; and this is what I saw passing through the mind of Wurzel.

“O, what a life! what grub! what jollyness! no turmut oeing; no dung-cart; no edgin and ditchin; no five o’clock in the mornin; no master; no bein sweared at; no up afore the magistrates; no ungriness; rump steaks and inguns; whiskey and water and bacca; if I didn’t like that air Polly Sweetlove, danged if I wouldn’t go for a soger to-morrer!”

Then said Joe, very deferentially and as if he were afraid of being up afore the magistrate, “If you please, sir, med I have a bit o’ that there bacca?”

“Of course,” said the Sergeant, tossing his pouch; “certainly; help yourself.”

Joe’s heart was softened more and more towards the military, which he had hitherto regarded, from all he could hear, as a devil’s own trap to catch Sabbath breakers and disobedient to parents.

And methought, in my dream, I never saw men who were not partakers of a feast enjoy it more than the onlookers of that military repast.

Then said Harry,—

“Well, Sergeant, I’m well-nigh tired of my life, and I’ve come here to enlist.”

“Just wait a bit,” said the Sergeant; “I’m not a man to do things in a hurry. I never allow a man to enlist, if I know it, in Her Majesty’s service, honourable and jolly as it is, without asking him to think about it.”

“Hear, hear!” said Lazyman; “that’s good, I likes that; don’t be in a hurry, lad.”

“Hear, hear!” says Outofwork, “don’t jump into a job too soon, yer medn’t like it.”

“Hear, hear!” says the Boardman, “walk round a-bit.”

“But,” said Harry, “I have considered it. I’ve just had education enough to prevent my getting a living, and not enough to make a man of me: I’ve tried everything and nobody wants me.”

“Then,” said Sergeant Goodtale, “do you think the Queen only wants them that nobody else’ll have. I can tell you that ain’t the Queen of England’s way. It might do for Rooshia or Germany, or them countries, but not for Old England. It’s a free country. I think, lads, I’m right—”

Here there was tremendous hammering on the table by way of assent and applause; amidst which Joe could be observed thumping his hard fist with as much vehemence as if he had got a County Magistrate’s head under it.

“This is a free country, sir,” said the Sergeant, “no man here is kidnapped into the Army, which is a profession for men, not slaves.”

“I’m going to join,” said Harry, “say what you like.”

“Wait till the morning;” said the Sergeant, “and meanwhile we’ll have a song.”

At this moment Mr. Bumpkin put in an appearance; for although he had been enjoying himself with Mr. and Mrs. Oldtimes, he thought it prudent to have a peep and see how “thic Joe wur gettin on.”