In Clives Command | Page 3

binna on'y the nose, with his Jehus an'
such."
Meanwhile the man strode rapidly along, reached the fringe of the
crowd, and appeared to make his way through its mass without
difficulty, perhaps by reason of his commanding height, possibly by the

aforesaid quaintness of his aspect, and the smile which forbade any one
to regard him as an aggressor. He went steadily on until he came
opposite to the Talbot Inn. At that moment a stillness fell upon the
crowd; every voice was hushed; every head was craned towards the
open windows of the inn's assembly room.
Gazing with the rest, the stranger saw a long table glittering under the
soft radiance of many candles and surrounded by a numerous
company--fat and thin, old and young, red-faced and pale, gentle and
simple. At the end farthest from the street one figure stood erect--a
short, round, rubicund little man, wearing a gown of rusty black, one
thumb stuck into his vest, and a rosy benignity in the glance with which
he scanned the table. He threw back his head, cleared his tight throat
sonorously, and began, in tones perhaps best described as treacly, to
address the seated company, with an intention also towards the larger
audience without.
"Now, neebors all, we be trim and cozy in our insides, and 'tis time fur
me to say summat. I be proud, that I be, as it falls to me, bein' bailiff o'
this town, to axe ya all to drink the good health of our honored
townsman an guest. I ha' lived hereabout, boy an' man, fur a matter o'
fifty year, an' if so be I lived fifty more I couldna be a prouder man
than I bin this night. Boy an' man, says I? Ay, I knowed our guest when
he were no more'n table high. Well I mind him, that I do, comin' by this
very street to school; ay, an' he minds me too, I warrant.
"I see him now, I do, skippin' along street fresh an' nimblelike, his eyne
chock full o' mischief lookin' round fur to see some poor soul to play a
prank on. It do feel strange-like to have him a-sittin' by my elbow today.
Many's the tale I could tell o' his doin' an' our sufferin'. Why, I mind a
poor lump of a 'prentice as I wunst had, a loon as never could raise a
keek: poor soul, he bin underground this many year. Well, as I were
sayin', this 'prentice o' mine were allers bein' baited by the boys o' the
grammar school. I done my best for him, spoke them boys fair an' soft,
but, bless ya, 'twas no good; they baited him worse'n ever. So one day I
used my stick to um. Next mornin' I was down in my bake hus, makin'
my batch ready fur oven, when, oothout a word o' warnin', up comes

my two feet behind, down I goes head fust into my flour barrel, and
them young--hem! the clergy be present--them youngsters dancin'
round me like forty mad merry andrews at a fair."
A roar of laughter greeted the anecdote.
"Ay, neebors," resumed the bailiff, "we can laugh now, you an' me, but
theer's many on ya could tell o' your own mishappenin's if ya had a
mind to 't. As fur me, I bided my time. 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,