The Humourous Story of Farmer Bumpkin's Lawsuit Part 27

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 t.i.tilated 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 pa.s.sed through his mind no one but a dreamer could tell; and this is what I saw pa.s.sing 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 n.o.body wants me."

"Then," said Sergeant Goodtale, "do you think the Queen only wants them that n.o.body 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 a.s.sent 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. b.u.mpkin 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."

CHAPTER XX.

Mr. b.u.mpkin sings a good old song-the Sergeant becomes quite a convivial companion and plays dominoes.

The Sergeant, having finished his repast, again had recourse to his pipe, and was proceeding to light it when Mr. b.u.mpkin appeared in the room.

"We be gwine to have a song, maister," said Joe.

"Give us a song, governor," said half-a-dozen voices.

"Ay, do, maister," says Joe; "thee sings a good un, I knows, for I ha eerd thee often enough at arvest oames: gie us a song, maister."

Now if there was one thing Mr. b.u.mpkin thought he was really great at besides ploughing the straightest and levellest furrow, it was singing the longest and levellest song. He had been known to sing one, which, with its choruses, had lasted a full half hour, and then had broken down for lack of memory.

On the present occasion he would have exhibited no reluctance, having had a gla.s.s or two in the Bar Parlour had he not possessed those misgivings about the Sergeant. He looked furtively at that officer as though it were better to give him no chance. Seeing, however, that he was smoking quietly, and almost in a forlorn manner by himself, his apprehensions became less oppressive.

Invitations were repeated again and again, and with such friendly vehemence that resistance at last was out of the question.

"I aint sung for a good while," said he, "but I wunt be disagreeable like, so here goes."

But before he could start there was such a thundering on the tables that several minutes elapsed. At length there was sufficient silence to enable him to be heard.

"This is Church and Crown, lads."

"Gie me the man as loves the Squire, The Parson, and the Beak; And labours twelve good hours a day For thirteen bob a week!"

"Hooroar! hooroar! hooroar!" shouted Lazyman. "What d'ye think 'o that?"

"O, my eye," said Outofwork, "aint it jolly?"

"Well done! bravo!" shrieked the Boardman. "I'll carry that ere man through the streets on my shoulders instead o' the boards, that I will.

Bravo! he ought to be advertized-this style thirteen bob a week!"

"Thirteen bob a week!" laughed Harry; "who'd go for a soldier with such a prospect. Can you give us a job, governor?"

"Wait a bit, lads," said Mr. b.u.mpkin, "there be another werse and then a chorus."

"Hooray!" they shouted, "a chorus! let's have the chorus-there ought to be a chorus-thirteen bob a week!"

"Now, gentlemen, the chorus if you please," said Harry; "give it mouth, sir!"

Then sang b.u.mpkin-

"O 'edgin, ditchin, that's the geaam, All in the open air; The poor man's health is all his wealth, But wealth without a care!

CHORUS.