In Clives Command | Page 4

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, neebors, 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 axe ya all to lift yer glasses, neebors, an' drink the good
health o' General Clive. So theer!"
As the worthy bailiff concluded his speech, the company primed their
glasses, rose and drank the toast with enthusiasm. Lusty cheers broke
from the drier throats outside; caps were waved, rattles whirled, kettles
beaten with a vigor that could not have been exceeded if the general
loyalty had been stirred by the presence of King George himself.
Only one man in the crowd held his peace. The stranger remained
opposite the window, silent, motionless, looking now into the room,
now round upon the throng, with the same smile of whimsical

amusement. Only once did his manner change; the smile faded, his lips
met in a straight line, and he made a slight rearward movement,
seeming at the same moment to lose something of his height.
It was when the guest of the evening stood up to reply: a young man,
looking somewhat older than his twenty-nine years, his powdered hair
crowning a strong face; with keen, deep-set eyes, full lips and masterful
chin. He wore a belaced purple coat; a crimson sash crossed his
embroidered vest; a diamond flashed upon his finger. Letting his eyes
range slowly over the flushed faces of the diners, he waited until the
bailiff had waved down the untiring applauders without; then, in a clear
voice, began:
"Bailiff Malkin, my old friends--"
But his speech was broken in upon by a sudden commotion in the street.
Loud cries of a different tenor arose at various points; the boys who had
been hanging upon the window ledge dropped to the ground; the crowd
surged this way and that, and above the mingled clamor sounded a wild
and fearful squeal that drew many of the company to their feet and
several in alarm to the window.
Among these the bailiff, now red with anger, shook his fist at the
people and demanded the meaning of the disturbance. A small boy, his
eyes round with excitement, piped up:
"An't please yer worship, 'tis a wild Injun come from nowheer an' doin'
all manner o' wickedness."
"A wild Injun! Cotch him! Ring the 'larum bell! Put him in the stocks!"
But the bailiff's commands passed unheeded. The people were
thronging up the street, elbowing each other, treading on each other's
toes, yelling, booing, forgetful of all save the strange coincidence that,
on this evening of all others, the banquet in honor of Clive, the Indian
hero, had been interrupted by the sudden appearance of a live Indian in
their very midst.

A curious change had come over the demeanor of the stranger, who
hitherto had been so silent, so detached in manner, so unmoved. He
was now to be seen energetically forcing his way toward the outskirts
of the crowd, heaving, hurling, his long arms sweeping obstacles aside.
His eyes flashed fire upon the yokels skurrying before him, a vitriolic
stream of abuse scorched their faces as he bore them down.
At length he stopped suddenly, caught a hulking farmer by the shoulder,
and, with a violent twist and jerk, flung him headlong among his
fellows. Released from the man's grasp, a small