Page:Vanity Fair 1848.djvu/257

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A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
207

was inexpressibly relieved when he found that the envelope was only a reminder for himself. ("I shall expect you at half-past five," Captain Dobbin wrote). He was very much interested about his employer's family; but, que voulez vous? a grand dinner was of more concern to him than the affairs of any other mortal.

Dobbin was quite justified in repeating the General's information to any officers of the regiment whom he should see in the course of his peregrinanations; accordingly he imparted it to Ensign Stubble, whom he met at the agent's, and who, such was his military ardour, went off instantly to purchase a new sword at the accoutrement-maker's. Here this young fellow, who though only seventeen years of age, and about sixty-five inches high, with a constitution naturally rickety and much impaired by premature brandy and water, had an undoubted courage and a lion's heart, poised, tried, bent, and balanced a weapon such as he thought would do execution amongst Frenchmen. Shouting "Ha, ha," and stamping his little feet with tremendous energy, he delivered the point twice or thrice at Captain Dobbin, who parried the thrust laughingly with his bamboo walking-stick.

Mr. Stubble, as may be supposed from his size and slenderness, was of the Light Bobs. Ensign Spooney, on the contrary, was a tall youth, and belonged to (Captain Dobbin's) the Grenadier Company, and he tried on a new bear-skin cap, under which he looked savage beyond his years. Then these two lads went off to the Slaughter's, and having ordered a famous dinner, sate down and wrote off letters to the kind anxious parents at home—letters full of love and heartiness, and pluck and bad spelling. Ah! there were many anxious hearts beating through England at that time; and mothers' prayers and tears flowing in many homesteads.

Seeing young Stubble engaged in composition at one of the coffee-room