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Updated: May 20, 2025
And, when the glasses brimmed, each with a slice of lemon a-top, the Sergeant solemnly rose. "Mr. Bellew, and comrade," said he, lifting his glass, "I give you Miss Priscilla!" "God bless her!" said Peterday. "Amen!" added Bellew. So the toast was drunk, the glasses were emptied, re-filled, and emptied again, this time more slowly, and, the clock striking nine, Bellew rose to take his leave.
"'Graced our board," said the Sergeant, nodding his head again, "'graced our board, is the only expression for it, Peterday. But they disappointed us, Mr. Bellew, sir, on account of the sale." "Messmate," said Peterday, with a note of concern in his voice, "how's the wind?" "Tolerable, comrade, tolerable!" "Then why forget the tea?" "Tea!" said the Sergeant with a guilty start, "why so I am! Mr.
"No," answered the Sergeant, handing Bellew the shrimps. "We ain't had company to tea," said Peterday, passing Bellew the muffins, "no, we ain't had company to tea since the last time Miss Anthea, and Miss Priscilla honoured us, have we, Dick?" "Honoured us," said the Sergeant, nodding his head approvingly, "is the one, and only word for it, Peterday."
Peterday what have you to say about it?" "Say, messmate, why that you and me, honouring, and respecting two ladies as deserves to be honoured, and respected, ain't going to let such a small thing as this here cottage come betwixt us, and our honouring and respecting of them two ladies.
"Right O, shipmate!" he cried, very much as though he had been hailing the "main-top," whereupon the Sergeant emerged from between the clothes-press and the dresser with a black bottle in his hand, which he passed over to Peterday who set about brewing what he called a "jorum o' grog," the savour of which filled the place with a right pleasant fragrance.
"A fine fellow is Dick, sir!" nodded Peterday, beginning to fill a long clay pipe, "Lord! what a sailor he 'd ha' made, to be sure! failing which he's as fine a soldier as ever was, or will be, with enough war-medals to fill my Sunday hat, sir.
"It's rough on you, Peterday it's hard on you, I'll admit, but things were said, comrade relative to business troubles of one as we both respect, Peterday, things was said as called for beer down the neck, and running out into the road, comrade. But it's rough on you, Peterday seeing as you like the Hussars at Assuan was never engaged, so to speak."
Saying which, Peterday bobbed his head again, shook his wooden leg again, and turned away to reach another cup and saucer. It was a large room for so small a cottage, and comfortably furnished, with a floor of red tile, and with a grate at one end well raised up from the hearth. Upon the hob a kettle sang murmurously, and on a trivet stood a plate whereon rose a tower of toasted muffins.
"On guard!" repeated Bellew, "I'm afraid I don't understand." "Of course you don't, sir," chuckled Peterday, "well then, to-night he marches away in full regimentals, sir, to mount guard. And where, do you suppose? why, I'll tell you, under Miss Priscilla's window! He gets there as the clock is striking eleven, and there he stays, a marching to and fro, until twelve o'clock.
"Very remarkable!" said Bellew. Sir, my comrade Peterday is a very remarkable man, most cobblers are. When he's not cobbling, he's reading, when not reading, he's cobbling, or mending clocks, and watches, and, betwixt this and that, my comrade has picked up a power of information, though he lost his leg a doing of it in a gale of wind off the Cape of Good Hope, for my comrade was a sailor, sir.
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