“Peterday,” said the Sergeant, beginning to stir his tea faster than ever, and with his eyes still fixed, “consequent upon disparaging remarks having been passed by one Grimes,—­our landlord,—­concerning them as should not be mentioned in a inn parlour—­or anywhere else—­by such as said Grimes,—­I was compelled to pour—­a tankard of beer—­over said Grimes, our landlord,—­this arternoon, Peterday, at exactly—­twelve and a half minutes past six, by my watch,—­which done,—­I ran our landlord—­out into the road, Peterday, say—­half a minute later, which would make it precisely thirteen minutes after the hour.  Consequent upon which, comrade—­we have received our marching orders.”

“What messmate, is it heave our anchor, you mean?”

“I mean, comrade—­that on Saturday next, being the twenty-fifth instant,—­we march out—­bag and baggage—­horse, foot, and artillery,—­we evacuate our position—­in face of superior force,—­for good and all, comrade.”

“Is that so, shipmate?”

“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.”

“Aye, aye, Shipmate, that does ketch me,—­all aback, shipmate.  Why Lord!  I’d give a pound,—­two pound—­ah, ten!—­just to have been astarn of him wi’ a rope’s end,—­though—­come to think of it I’d ha’ preferred a capstan-bar.”

“Peterday,” said the Sergeant removing his gaze from the wall with a jerk, “on the twenty-fifth instant we shall be—­without a roof to cover us, and—­all my doing.  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.  If, therefore, we are due to quit this anchorage, why then it’s all hands to the windlass with a heave yo ho, and merrily! say I. Messmate,—­my fist!” Hereupon, with a very jerky movement indeed, the Sergeant reached out his remaining arm, and the soldier and the sailor shook hands very solemnly over the muffins (already vastly diminished in number) with a grip that spoke much.

“Peterday,—­you have lifted a load off my heart—­I thank ye comrade,—­and spoke like a true soldier.  Peterday—­the muffins!”

So now the Sergeant, himself once more, fell to in turn, and they ate, and drank, and laughed, and talked, until the shrimps were all gone, and the muffins were things of the past.

And now, declining all Bellew’s offers of assistance, the soldier and the sailor began washing, and drying, and putting away their crockery, each in his characteristic manner,—­the Sergeant very careful and exact, while the sailor juggled cups and saucers with the sure-handed deftness that seems peculiar to nautical fingers.