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Updated: June 4, 2025
Naturally enough, the old state of calm passed away, and Dick's brain was in a state of effervescence as he waited three days for an opportunity to meet and consult with Jerry Brigley. For this had been planned at parting, after Jerry had sworn to be silent until some plan of action had been decided upon.
As to his going away, that settles it. He wouldn't leave them flutes if he were making a bolt. Why, he didn't when he ran away before. That settles it, and no mistake. Jerry Brigley, my lad, there's something wrong." What was to be done?
His master's head was kept floating, as it were, on the points of the bristles, while a pleasant stimulation was kept up on what Jerry termed "the scallup." "By the way, Brigley," said the lieutenant, who sat back in his chair, with his eyes half-shut, "I shall have three or four friends here to-night." "Yes, sir." "See that the refreshments are on a side-table." "Yes, sir."
"`Begging your pardon, sir! I says, `you do! and he says, sadly "`Well, Brigley, have it your own way; 'tis no fault of mine. "I see then as I oughtn't to say no more, for fear of his thinking I flattered him. But, really, he is as handsome and big a chap as ever I did see." "Yes, he is good-looking, Jerry; but if you talk much like that you'll disgust him."
"Jeremiah Brigley, sir;" and the young officer carefully put down the name before Dick retreated and took his leave, the new arrival saying: "Here, Smithson, I shall want you to give me some lessons, too." The next minute Dick was crossing the barrack yard to reach his quarters, wondering whether it would be possible for Jerry to be exchanged, and meeting the bandmaster, who said rather gruffly
It is not much to kill or to die that is in the game; but that other, 'mon Dieu! Little Hammer, you see how he hide his head: not because he kill the Tarquin, that Brigley, but because he is a poor 'vaurien' now, and he once was happy and had a wife.... What would you do, judge honourable? ... Little Hammer, I shake your hand so How!" But Little Hammer made no reply.
"Oh, pooh! he has not deserted." "I don't know, sir," said Jerry, dubiously. "Look here, Brigley: I don't often use bad language, but if you talk like that, confound you! I shall swear at you." "I wish you would, sir," said Jerry. "What?" "I say I wish you would, sir. It would seem to do me good like, for I'm reg'larly upset about Smithson, sir." "There, I beg your pardon, Brigley.
We will show it for him, poor lad. Ah! it was a very mad thing to do; and, if the truth was known, not the first mad thing Smithson's done." "Right," said Jerry. "Look here, Jerry Brigley, you haven't been a soldier long enough to know how sharp the police are in tracking deserters. It don't take very long to send word all over the country that a man described has left his regiment."
For Jerry Brigley was as wrong as he was right right in his surmise that Richard would seek the bridge, which crossed the river at its deepest part, but wrong in imagining that it was for so horrible a deed. No: it was the way to safety to places where he was unknown.
"Yes, sir," said Jerry, humbly. "Then you're a fool, Brigley." "Yes, sir." "If Smithson had been a common sort of pothouse-haunting fellow, it might have been so; but Smithson was a clever musician, and too much of a gentleman to do such a thing." "Thank ye, sir." "`Thank ye!" cried the lieutenant, irritably; "what do you mean by that?" "I mean, sir, that's what he is."
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