One day I cotched the leader o' them
boys nigh corn market, an' I laid him across the badgerin' stone and
walloped him nineteen--twenty--hee! hee! D'ya mind that, General?"

He turned to the guest at his right hand, who sat with but the glimmer of
a smile, crumbling one of Bailiff Malkin's rolls on the tablecloth.

"But theer," continued the speaker, "that be nigh twenty year ago, an'
the shape o' my strap binna theer now, I warrant. Three skins ha' growed
since then--hee! hee! Who'd ha' thought, neebors, as that young limb as
plagued our very lives out 'ud ha' bin here today, a general, an' a great
man, an' a credit to his town an' country? Us all thought as he'd bring
his poor feyther's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. An' when I heerd as
he'd bin shipped off to the Injies--well, thinks I, that bin the last
we'll hear o' Bob Clive.

"But, bless ya! all eggs binna addled. General Clive here--'twere the
Injun sun what hatched he, an' binna he, I axe ya, a rare young fightin'
cock? Ay, and a good breed, too. A hunnerd year ago theer was a Bob Clive
as med all our grandfeythers quake in mortal fear, a terrible man o' war
was he. They wanted to put 'n into po'try an' the church sarvice.

"'From Wem and from Wyche
An' from Clive o' the Styche,
Good Lord, deliver us.'

"That's what they thought o' the Bob Clive o' long ago. Well, this Bob
Clive now a-sittin' at my elbow be just as desp'rate a fighter, an'
thankful let us all be, neebors, as he does his fightin' wi' the
black-faced Injuns an' the black-hearted French, an' not the peaceful
bide-at-homes o' Market Drayton."

The little bailiff paused to moisten his lips. From his audience arose
feeling murmurs of approval.

"Ya known what General Clive ha' done," he resumed. "'Twas all read out
o' prent by the crier in corn market. An' the grand folks in Lun'on ha'
give him a gowd sword, an' he bin hob-a-nob wi' King Jarge hisself. An'
us folks o' Market Drayton take it proud, we do, as he be come to see us
afore he goes back to his duty.

"Theer's a example fur you boys. Theer be limbs o' mischief in Market
Drayton yet.

"Ay, I see tha' 'Lijah Notcutt, a-hangin' on to winder theer. I know who
wringed the neck o' Widder Peplow's turkey.

"An' I see tha' too, 'Zekiel Podmore; I know who broke the handle o' town
pump. If I cotch ya at your tricks I'll leather ya fust an' clap ya in
the stocks afterwards, sure as my name be Randle Malkin.

"But as I wan sayin',