ne. Simply engaged in warming his
hands at the cheerful fire, no one had cause to apprehend anything from
him.

But a man, Sergeant or no Sergeant, must, out of common civility,
exchange a word now and then, if only about the weather; and so he said,
carelessly,--

"Sharp weather, lads!"

Now, not even Joe could disagree with this; it was true, and was assented
to by all; Joe silently acquiescing. After the Sergeant had warmed his
hands and rubbed them sufficiently, he took off his cap and placed it on
a little shelf or rack; and then took out a meerschaum pipe, which he
exhibited without appearing to do so to the whole company. Then he
filled it from his pouch, and rang the bell; and when the buxom young
waitress appeared, he said,--

"My dear, I think I'll have a nice rump steak and some onions, if you
please."

"Yes, sir," said the maid.

Now I observed that two or three matters were noteworthy at this point.
First, Joe's mouth so watered that he actually went to the fireplace and
expectorated. Secondly, he was utterly amazed at the familiar manner in
which the Sergeant was permitted to address this beautiful young person,
who seemed to be quite a lady of quality. Thirdly, he was duly impressed
and astounded with the luxurious appetite of this Sergeant of Hussars!

Then the young woman came back and said,--"Would you like to have it in
the parlour, sir?"

"O no, my dear," said the Sergeant; "I would rather have it here. I hate
being alone."

As he said this, he slightly glanced at Dick Devilmecare. Dick,
flattering himself that the observation was addressed particularly to
him, observed that he also hated being alone.

Then the Sergeant lighted his pipe; and I suppose there was not one in
the company who did not think that tobacco particularly nice.

Next, the Sergeant rang again, and once more the pretty maid appeared.

"Lucy," said he, "while my steak is getting ready, I think I'll have
three of whiskey hot, with a little lemon in it."

At this there was an involuntary smacking of lips all round, although no
one was conscious he had exhibited any emotion. The Sergeant was
perfectly easy and indifferent to everything. He smoked, looked at the
fire, sipped his grog, spread out his legs, folded his arms; then rose
and turned his back to the fire, everyone thinking how thoroughly he
enjoyed himself.

"That smells very nice, Sergeant," said Harry.

"Yes, it's very good," said the Sergeant; "