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"Thank you," said Barnabas, smiling again, "but it's too small, you see." "That's a pity!" sighed Mr. Shrig, "still, if it von't go on, it von't. Now, as to a vepping?" "I have my stick," said Barnabas, holding it up. Mr. Shrig took it, balanced it in his grasp and passed it back with a nod of approval.
"Yes," said Barnabas shivering, for the air struck chill and damp, "but what do we do now?" "V'y, sir, I'll tell you. Ve sit here, nice and qviet and let 'em run on till they meet my four specials and Corporal Richard Roe, late Grenadiers. My specials has their staves and knows how to use 'em, and the Corp has 's 'ook, and an 'ook ain't no-vise pleasant as a vepping.
Now, as I think I 've 'inted afore, my feyther vere a nat'rally bold, courage-ful cove, so 'e took a look at the murderous vepping, an' nodded. 'It's a pistol, ain't it? sez 'e.
"But this this is an outrage!" spluttered the fussy gentleman, "a guard blind in one eye! Scandalous! I shall write to the papers of this. But you surely you carry a weapon too?" "A vepping? Ay, to be sure, sir, I've got a blunder-bush, under this 'ere werry seat, loaded up to the muzzle wi' slugs too, though it von't go off." "Won't eh, what? Won't go off?"
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