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only cough and gasp and wipe his face with his coat-tails.
"I'd give you in charge o' the pleece, I would, if it wasn't that you've pretty well punished yourself a'ready," continued Miles. "Take 'im to a pump some o' you, 'cause I ain't got time. Good-day, spider-legs, an' don't go for to run into a hartist again, with a paint-pot in 'is 'and."
So saying, Miles pushed through the laughing crowd and sauntered away. He turned into the first street he came to, and then went forward as fast as was consistent with the idea of an artisan in a hurry. Being utterly ignorant of the particular locality into which he had penetrated--though well enough acquainted with the main thoroughfares of the city--his only care was to put as many intricate streets and lanes as possible between himself and the detectives. This was soon done, and thereafter, turning into a darkish passage, he got rid of the paint-pot and borrowed costume.
Fortunately he had thrust his own soft helmet-shaped cap into his breast at the time he put on the billycock, and was thus enabled to issue from the dark passage very much like his former self, with the exception of a few spots of whitewash, which were soon removed.
Feeling now pretty safe, our hero walked a considerable distance through the unknown parts of the city, before he ventured to inquire the way to thoroughfares with which he was familiar. Once in these, he proceeded at a smart pace to one of the railway stations, intending to leave town, though as yet he had formed no definite plan of action. In truth, his mind was much troubled and confused by the action of his conscience, for when the thought of leaving home and entering the army as a private soldier, against his father's wishes, crossed his mind, Conscience faithfully shook his head; and when softer feelings prevailed, and the question arose irresistibly, "Shall I return home?" the same faithful friend whispered, "Yes."
In a state of indecision, Miles found himself borne along by a human stream to the booking-office. Immediately in front of him were two soldiers,--one a sergeant, and the other a private of the line.
Both were tall handsome men, straight as arrows, and with that air of self-sufficient power which is as far removed from arrogance as it is from cowardice, and is by no means an uncommon feature in men of the British army.
Miles felt a strong, unaccountable attraction towards the young private. He had not yet heard his voice nor encountered his eye; indeed, being behind him, he had only seen his side-face, and as the expression on it was that of stern gravity, the attractive power could not have lain in that. It might have lain in the youthful look of the lad, for albeit a goodly man in person, he was almost a boy in countenance, being apparently not yet twenty years of age.
Miles was at last roused to the necessity for prompt and decisive action by the voice of the sergeant saying in tones of authority--
"Portsmouth--third--two--single."
"That's the way to go it, lobster!" remarked a shabby man, next in the line behind Miles.
The grave sergeant paid no more regard to this remark than if it had been the squeak of a mouse.
"Now, then, sir, your carridge stops the way. 'Eave a'ead. Shall I 'elp you?" said the shabby man.
Thus admonished, Miles, scarce knowing what he said, repeated the sergeant's words--
"Portsmouth--third--two--single."
"Vy, you ain't agoin' to pay for me, are you?" exclaimed the shabby man in smiling surprise.
"Oh! beg pardon. I mean one," said Miles to the clerk, quickly.
The clerk retracted the second ticket with stolid indifference, and Miles, hastening to the platform, sat down on a seat, deeply and uncomfortably impressed with the fact that he possessed little or no money! This unsatisfactory state of things had suddenly burst upon him while in the act of paying for his ticket. He now made a careful examination of his purse, and found its contents to be exactly seven shillings and sixpence, besides a few coppers in his trousers-pocket.
Again indecision assailed him. Should he return? It was not too late. "Yes," said Conscience, with emphasis. "No," said Shame. False pride echoed the word, and Self-will re-echoed it. Still our hero hesitated, and there is no saying what the upshot might have been if the bell had not rung at the moment, and, "Now, then, take your seats!" put an end to the controversy.
Another minute, and Miles Milton was seated opposite the two soldiers, rushing towards our great southern seaport at the rate of forty miles an hour.
CHAPTER TWO.
SHOWS SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE FALSE STEP, AND INTRODUCES THE READER TO PECULIAR COMPANY.
Our hero soon discovered that the sergeant was an old campaigner, having been out in Egypt at the