"I shall be in trouble again," thought Dick; "but I can't help it! I
feel as if that old bit of excitement was coming over me."
The next minute he was out in the street, and making his way toward the
High Barracks, trying to calm down his excitement and come to some
decision as to how he would find out. It seemed simple enough, for what
would Mark be? A lieutenant; and any corporal or sergeant would tell
him whether there was a Lieutenant Frayne in the regiment.
But long before Dick reached the barracks he had another shock; for, all
at once, in turning a corner, he saw a well-built private sauntering
along on the other side whose face was unmistakable, though how he had
become a soldier was more than Dick could grasp.
The man did not see him, and Dick passed on for a few yards, feeling his
forehead, then his pulse, to find the latter a little accelerated, the
former perfectly cool.
"I'm not going mad!" he muttered, excitedly. "I may be dreaming, but--"
He said no more, but turned sharply and followed the private, who was
evidently taking his first walk through the town, and had become a
little interested in the place.
Dick did not hesitate, but followed the private till he was close behind
him, and then uttered one word sharply, which brought him round on the
instant, to stare hard at the speaker, but without any change of
countenance.
"Yes; what is it? I've got my pass."
Dick could not speak again for the peculiar feeling of emotion which
troubled him, and the man began to frown.
"Was it me you meant when you called `Jerry'?" he said.
"Yes; you are Jerry Brigley."
"I'm Jeremiah Brigley," was the snappish reply, "and I tell you I've got
my pass. There you are."
But Dick did not even glance at it, for this was a new shock. Some day
he meant to go back and claim his position--some day--but here was a man
with whom he had been on most intimate terms staring at him blankly
without a sign of recognition!
"Mornin'!" said Jerry, shortly; and he faced round and walked on. But
Dick was after him directly, recovering somewhat from the shock he had
sustained, and ready to treat the position with something like forced
mirth in his delight at meeting one old link with the past.
"Jerry!" he cried, and the man faced round sharply.
"Well, what do you want with him?"
"Don't you know me, Jerry?" cried Dick.
"No, and don't want to; and, if this is a try-on to get me to stand
beer, it's a dead failure!"
"Not quite!" said Dick, smiling, though his heart ached.
"Look here, do you want a tanner?" cried Jerry, snappishly.
"Well, I am short of money," said Dick, as a sudden thought came to
mind; "but not a tanner. Pay me the sovereign you borrowed of me!"
"What?"
"I did not mean ever to ask you for it, but it would be useful now."
"Well, I'm blest!" cried Jerry. "Talk about cheek! When did I borrow a
sovereign of you, my whippersnapper?"
"Two years ago, when you wanted to bet on some horse for the Derby."
Jerry's jaw dropped.
"Who--who--who--who--says?" he stuttered. "How did--? When did--?
Here--who are you?--How did--? I say: who are you?"
"Dick Smithson, 205th Band," replied the young man, unable to keep from
enjoying the state of puzzledom in which his ex-servant was plunged.
"But I don't know no Dick Smithson; and how you--you--you! Oh, lor'!"
Jerry had suddenly turned ghastly, reeled, and caught at the lamp-post
close at hand.
"Hush! Quiet!" cried Dick, in an excited whisper. "Don't make a
scene!"
"S'Richard!" gasped Jerry.
"Silence, man! Here, come down the next street," whispered Dick,
thrusting his arm beneath the other's to lead him into a less crowded
thoroughfare; but Jerry started from him violently.
"Don't--don't touch me!" he gasped.
"Quiet, man!" said Dick, gripping him tightly. "That doesn't feel like
a ghost?"
"Oh, lor'!" groaned Jerry, with the great drops of cold perspiration
crowding upon his brow. "But--but I see you drownd yourself before my
very eyes!"
"No, you did not, or I shouldn't be standing here now!"
"But--but--oh, lor'!" groaned Jerry, with his voice growing faint and
piteous, "is--is it really you S'Rich--?"
"Silence! I'm Dick Smithson, now!" cried the young man fiercely.
"But you was S'Richard," groaned Jerry, "before you come to life again!"
"What nonsense are you talking now?"
"Only the truth, sir. Why--why--oh, dear! can we get a drop o' brandy?"
"Come in here," said Dick, seeing how bad the man looked, and he led him
into a tavern which, oddly enough, it being a garrison town, stood near.
The next minute they were seated alone in the parlour, and Jerry
guardedly stretched out his hand to touch Dick's knee.
"Well!" said the young man, "does it feel real?"
"Yes; but I see you drownd yourself before my very eyes, S'Rich--"
"Silence, man!"
"But I did," said Jerry, plaintively; "and we sat upon you at the
inquest."
"What!"
"Didn't I see you, my poor, dear lad, all stripped and torn by beating
about in the river-bed with stones and old trees; and didn't I go and
drop a tear or two on your coffin?"
"Jerry!"
"I did the day as you was buried, though things was that bad I had to
sell my watch to pay my fare."
"Here, quick! Tell me," cried Dick, whose turn it was to be staggered
now, "you--you--they--they did all this?"
"To be sure they did; and you're as dead as a door-nail, sir. I see it
all myself. Oh, my lad! how could you--how could you go and drownd
yourself like that?"
"I--go to drown myself! Nonsense!" cried Dick. Then, as the truth
flashed upon him: "Why, Jerry, it was that poor boy with the sheep--the
boy I tried to save."
"No; it was you, sir--I followed you, and got there just too late."
"You did!"
"Yes, sir, I did."
"But you don't understand, Jerry."
"No. I don't; and that's the worst of it, sir," cried Jerry, piteously.
"You was buried, for I followed yer; so how can you be here now
a-talking to me?"
"But don't you see?"
"Yes, I do now. You got to know all about it, and you're an impostor;
that's what you are!"
"Oh, Jerry, you always were a fool!" cried Dick, angrily. "Don't you
see that it was the poor fellow they found--the drowning boy I tried to
save?"
"Then you didn't try to drown yourself, sir?"
"Drown myself! Was I likely to do such a thing? Wasn't it enough that
I ran away, like the cowardly fool I was?"
"Then you ain't never been dead at all, then, sir?"
"Absurd!"
"And they buried the wrong man?"
"Good Heavens! what a position, Jerry! Yes," cried Dick, startled now
by the complications rising before his eyes.
"And you really are alive and hearty, and--how you've growed, and--and--
why, of course, it is! Pay you back the money--S'Richard, why I'd--oh,
my lad, my lad--I--I--I--oh, what a fool I am!"
Fool or no, Jerry Brigley broke down, and sat holding on by his
companion's hands sobbing for some moments before he uttered a loud
gulp, and then seemed relieved.
Meanwhile Dick sat staring straight before him, almost unconscious of
poor Jerry's acts. The revelation he had heard was paralysing. It was
horrible to think of; and, moment by moment, he began to realise how
difficult it would be to convince people of his identity when he went
back to claim his own.
He had just come to the conclusion that there must be an end to his
masquerading now, when Jerry recovered himself sufficiently to demand a
full account of how he had escaped from the flood.