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creeping back to his former seat； thought about the late uproar；
until； with long thinking of； it seemed to have occurred a month
ago。 Thus； between dozing； and thinking； and walking to the
window and looking out； the night wore away； the grim old screen；
and the kindred chairs and tables； began slowly to reveal
themselves in their accustomed forms； the grey…eyed general
seemed to wink and yawn and rouse himself； and at last he was
broad awake again； and very uncomfortable and cold and haggard
he looked； in the dull grey light of morning。
The sun had begun to peep above the forest trees； and already
flung across the curling mist bright bars of gold； when Joe
dropped from his window on the ground below； a little bundle and
his trusty stick； and prepared to descend himself。
It was not a very difficult task； for there were so many
projections and gable ends in the way； that they formed a series of
clumsy steps； with no greater obstacle than a jump of some few
feet at last。 Joe； with his stick and bundle on his shoulder； quickly
stood on the firm earth； and looked up at the old Maypole； it might
be for the last time。
He didn’t apostrophise it； for he was no great scholar。 He didn’t
curse it； for he had little ill…will to give to anything on earth。 He felt
more affectionate and kind to it than ever he had done in all his
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life before； so said with all his heart； ‘God bless you！’ as a parting
wish； and turned away。
He walked along at a brisk pace； big with great thoughts of
going for a soldier and dying in some foreign country where it was
very hot and sandy； and leaving God knows what unheard…of
wealth in prize…money to Dolly； who would be very much affected
when she came to know of it； and full of such youthful visions；
which were sometimes sanguine and sometimes melancholy； but
always had her for their main point and centre； pushed on
vigorously until the noise of London sounded in his ears； and the
Black Lion hove in sight。
It was only eight o’clock then； and very much astonished the
Black Lion was； to see him come walking in with dust upon his
feet at that early hour； with no grey mare to bear him company。
But as he ordered breakfast to be got ready with all speed； and on
its being set before him gave indisputable tokens of a hearty
appetite； the Lion received him； as usual； with a hospitable
welcome； and treated him with those marks of distinction； which；
as a regular customer； and one within the freemasonry of the
trade； he had a right to claim。
This Lion or landlord；—for he was called both man and beast；
by reason of his having instructed the artist who painted his sign；
to convey into the features of the lordly brute whose effigy it bore；
as near a counterpart of his own face as his skill could compass
and devise；—was a gentleman almost as quick of apprehension；
and of almost as subtle a wit； as the mighty John himself。 But the
difference between them lay in this： that whereas Mr Willet’s
extreme sagacity and acuteness were the efforts of unassisted
nature； the Lion stood indebted； in no small amount； to beer； of
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which he swigged such copious draughts； that most of his faculties
were utterly drowned and washed away； except the one great
faculty of sleep； which he retained in surprising perfection。 The
creaking Lion over the house…door was； therefore； to say the truth；
rather a drowsy； tame； and feeble lion； and as these social
representatives of a savage class are usually of a conventional
character （being depicted； for the most part； in impossible
attitudes and of unearthly colours）； he was frequently supposed by
the more ignorant and uninformed among the neighbours； to be
the veritable portrait of the host as he appeared on the occasion of
some great funeral ceremony or public mourning。
‘What noisy fellow is that in the next room？’ said Joe； when he
had disposed of his breakfast； and had washed and brushed
himself。
‘A recruiting serjeant；’ replied the Lion。
Joe started involuntarily。 Here was the very thing he had been
dreaming of； all the way along。
‘And I wish；’ said the Lion； ‘he was anywhere else but here。 The
party make noise enough； but don’t call for much。 There’s great
cry there； Mr Willet； but very little wool。 Your father wouldn’t like
’em； I know。’
Perhaps not much under any circumstances。 Perhaps if he
could have known what was passing at that moment in Joe’s mind；
he would have liked them still less。
‘Is he recruiting for a—for a fine regiment？’ said Joe； glancing
at a little round mirror that hung in the bar。
‘I believe he is；’ replied the host。 ‘It’s much the same thing；
whatever regiment he’s recruiting for。 I’m told there an’t a deal of
difference between a fine man and another one； when they’re shot
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through and through。’
‘They’re not all shot；’ said Joe。
‘No；’ the Lion answered； ‘not all。 Those that are—supposing it’s
done easy—are the best off in my opinion。’
‘Ah！’ retorted Joe； ‘but you don’t care for glory。’
‘For what？’ said the Lion。
‘Glory。’
‘No；’ returned the Lion； with supreme indifference。 ‘I don’t。
You’re right in that； Mr Willet。 When Glory comes here； and calls
for anything to drink and changes a guinea to pay for it； I’ll give it
him for nothing。 It’s my belief； sir； that the Glory’s arms wouldn’t
do a very strong business。’
These remarks were not at all comforting。 Joe walked out；
stopped at the door of the next room； and listened。 The serjeant
was describing a military life。 It was all drinking； he said； except
that there were frequent intervals of eating and love…making。 A
battle was the finest thing in the world—when your side won it—
and Englishmen always did that。 ‘Supposing you should be killed；
sir？’ said a timid voice in one corner。 ‘Well； sir； supposing you
should be；’ said the serjeant； ‘what then？ Your country loves you；
sir； his Majesty King George the Third loves you； your memory is
honoured； revered； respected； everybody’s fond of you； and
grateful to you； your name’s wrote down at full length in a book in
the War Office。 Damme； gentlemen； we must all die some time； or
another； eh？’
The voice coughed； and said no more。
Joe walked into the room。 A group of half…a…dozen fellows had
gathered together in the taproom； and were listening with greedy
ears。 One of them； a carter in a smock frock； seemed wavering and
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disposed to enlist。 The rest； who were by no means disposed；
strongly urged him to do so （according to the custom of mankind）；
backed the serjeant’s arguments； and grinned among themselves。
‘I say nothing； boys；’ said the serjeant； who sat a little apart；
drinking his liquor。 ‘For lads of spirit’—here he cast an eye on
Joe—‘this is the time。 I don’t want to inveigle you。 The king’s not
come to that； I hope。 Brisk young blood is what we want； not milk
and water。 We won’t take five men out of six。 We want top…
sawyers； we do。 I’m not a…going to te