There was a table running down the middle, and round it were seated
about a dozen men, most of whom were smoking and drinking beer. They
welcomed the Major with rappings, and he moved towards the empty
chair at the head of the board.
"You're late, chairman," said one.
"Been to fetch a new comrade."
"Is that the cove? He looks all right. Here's your health, guv'nor,
and d---n all tyrants." With that he took a pull at the beer.
"Swear him," said the Major.
A disagreeable-looking man with a big round nose, small red eyes,
unshaven face, and slightly unsteady voice, rose, laid down his pipe,
and beckoned to Zachariah, who advanced towards him.
The Secretary--for he it was--produced a memorandum-book, and began
with a stutter:
"In the sacred name of--"
"Stop!" cried Zachariah, "I don't swear."
"That will do," shouted the Major across a hubbub which arose--
"religious. I'll answer for him: let him sign; that's enough."
"You ARE answerable," growled the Secretary "if he's a d---d spy
we'll have his blood, that's all, and yours too, Major." The Major
took no notice, and Zachariah put his name in the book, the roll of
the Red Lion Friends of the People.
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