TIBERIUS SMITH
cries of rage were fretting the balmy summer night, and I could hear the drummer's teeth clinking like pebbles in a tin can.
"‘Marry, come up,' quoth Tib at last; 'whence are we hencing?' And in the moonlight I saw the old fellow was mopping the sweat from his round face.
"‘Can't we call on the overseer of the poor, or at a drug-store, and get a bite to eat?' moaned the drummer. 'I have had naught, fair sirs—'
"‘Good form!' cried Tib, approvingly.
"‘Oh, I'm going fast,' whimpered the drummer. 'It seems real to me now, and if I only had a hooded-hawk, or a baldric, I'd be doing a huntsman's stunt. But, honest, fellers, I've had nothing in my stomach but rain-water for three days. And I had to steal that out of a barrel by the window when the archers were playing horseshoe on the green. I could eat a mustard-plaster or a coat of arms.'
"I suggested that we stop and rest, and the guards for a wonder were willing. I could see, too, they were uneasy. Tib said it was because they didn't know what to do next, being removed from the zone of the king's influence. I reckon he hit it right, for the corn boy swore he was going back and ask his Majesty for further instructions. By this time the drummer had gone light-headed and persisted in reciting 'The Wreck of the Hesperus.'
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