"Yes, and there's a lucifer here tells me he's no better than he ought
to be. What do you think of that?"

"I think you and he ought to understand one another, if that's the
case," growled I, unable to resist the temptation of a sarcastic reply.

"Ho, ho! that's pretty good for you, watch. However, there are some
folk who are not as good as they ought to be, let alone better."

After a brief pause he began once more.

"He's young; only eighteen, I'm told."

As no answer was necessary here, I vouchsafed none.

"And he's trying to get a job on some ship, there's a nice look-out!
What a poor figure _you'd_ cut if you went to sea!"

I could not stand this, probably because I knew it was true; so I turned
my back, and in self-defence bade good evening to an old pocket-comb
which lay near me.

"Whew! good evening! whew!" replied he. He had a curious way, this
comb, of giving a sort of half-whistle, half-sigh, between every few
words he spoke.

"I suppose you are an older resident here than I am?" I suggested, by
way of making myself agreeable.

"No, I'm not, whew! I belong to the other pocket, whew! I don't know
why I'm here, whew! but make yourself at home, whew!"

"I hear your master is going to sea," said I.

"Not at all, whew! Who told you that? whew! but I tell you what,
whew--"

"What?" I inquired.

At this moment our master stopped still in the middle of the road. I
looked out and saw that he was standing face to face with a fine
soldierly-looking fellow in uniform, who wore a cockade of ribbons on
his shako.

"Good evening, my lad," said the soldier.

"Good evening, cap'n," said the youth.

"Not cap'n just yet," said the other, laughing; "call it sergeant."

"Well, sargint. Good evening to ye, sargint."

"I've been looking for you all day, that I have," said the sergeant.

"What, me!" said my new master, in astonishment.

"Well, I was told to look out for the finest young fellow in the place,
and that's about the same thing."

The lad chuckled at this vastly, and then said,--

"And what might ye be wanting me for, gineral, at all at all?"

"Faith, Patrick," said the sergeant, adopting the Irish brogue as if he
had been a native, "to give yez a message from the Quane, just."

"The Quane!" shouted the Irishman.

"Sure, no other. She wants your help, my lad."

"And she shall have it, bless her! What can I do at all?"

"Arrah, she wants yez to foight a blackguard or two t