The Corporal started, and broke into a long whistle. He then grinned from ear to ear, snapped his fingers, and said, “Man of the world, Sir,--man of the world every inch of him!” “He seems resolved that I shall be a man of another world,” said Walter. “Tell ye what, Sir--take my advice--your honour knows I be no fool--throw off them ere wrappers; let me put on scrap of plaister--pitch phials to devil--order out horses to-morrow, and when you’ve been in the air half an hour, won’t know yourself again!” “Bunting! the horses out to-morrow?--faith, I don’t think I could walk across the room.” “Just try, your honour.” “Ah! I’m very weak, very weak--my dressing-gown and slippers--your arm, Bunting--well, upon my honour, I walk very stoutly, eh? I should not have thought this! leave go: why I really get on without your assistance!” “Walk as well as ever you did.” “Now I’m out of bed, I don’t think I shall go back again to it.” “Would not, if I was your honour.” “And after so much exercise, I really fancy I’ve a sort of an appetite.” “Like a beefsteak?” “Nothing better.” “Pint of wine?” “Why that would be too much--eh?” “Not it.” “Go, then, my good Bunting; go and make haste--stop, I say that d--d fellow--” “Good sign to swear,” interrupted the Corporal; “swore twice within last five minutes--famous symptom!” “Do you choose to hear me? That d--d fellow, Fillgrave, is coming back in an hour to bleed me: do you mount guard--refuse to let him in--pay him his bill--you have the money. And harkye, don’t be rude to the rascal.” “Rude, your honour! not I--been in the Forty-second--knows discipline--only rude to the privates!” The Corporal, having seen his master conduct himself respectably toward the viands with which he supplied him--having set his room to rights, brought him the candles, borrowed him a book, and left him for the present in extremely good spirits, and prepared for the flight of the morrow; the Corporal, I say, now lighting his pipe, stationed himself at the door of the inn, and waited for Mr. Pertinax Fillgrave. Presently the Doctor, who was a little thin man, came bustling across the street, and was about, with a familiar “Good evening,” to pass by the Corporal, when that worthy, dropping his pipe, said respectfully, “Beg pardon, Sir--want to speak to you--a little favour. Will your honour walk in the back-parlour?” “Oh! another patient,” thought the Doctor; “these soldiers are careless fellows--often get into scrapes. Yes, friend, I’m at your service.” The Corporal showed the man of phials into the back-parlour, and, hemming thrice, looked sheepish, as if in doubt how to begin. It was the Doctor’s business to encourage the bashful. “Well, my good man,” said he, brushing off, with the arm of his coat, some dust that had settled on his inexpressibles, “so you want to consult me?” “Indeed, your honour, I do; but--feel a little awkward in doing so--a stranger and all.”