"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, neebours, as that young limb as plagued our very lives out ’ud ha’ bin here to-day, 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 grey 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 ax 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, neebours, 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’, if ya foller th’ example o’ General Clive, an’ turn yer young sperits into the lawful way--why, mebbe there be gowd swords an’ mints o’ money somewheers fur ya too. Well now, I bin talkin’ long enough, an’ to tell ya the truth I be dry as a whistle, so I’ll ax ya all to lift yer glasses, neebours, an’ drink the good health o’ General Clive. So theer!" [Sidenote: "General Clive!"