“Really, gentlemen,” said Turpin, who did not exactly see the drift of this harangue, “you do me a vast deal of honour. I am quite at a loss to conceive how I can possibly have merited so much attention at your hands; and, indeed, I feel myself so unworthy—” Here Dick received an expressive wink from Juniper, and therefore thought it prudent to alter his expression. “Could I suppose myself at all deserving of so much distinction,” continued the modest speaker, “I should at once accept your very obliging offer; but—”
“None so worthy,” said the upright man.
“Can’t hear of a refusal,” said the knight of Malta.
“Refusal—impossible!” reiterated Juniper.
“No: no refusal,” exclaimed a chorus of voices. “Dick Turpin must be one of us. He shall be our dimber damber.”
“Well, gentlemen, since you are so pressing,” replied Turpin, “even so be it. I will be your dimber damber.”
“Bravo! bravo!” cried the mob, not “of gentlemen.”
“About it pals at once,” said the knight of Malta, flourishing Excalibur. “By St. Thomas à Becket, we’ll have as fine a scene as I myself ever furnished to the Canterbury lieges.”
“About what?” asked Dick.
“Your matriculation,” replied Jerry. “There are certain forms to be gone through, with an oath to be taken, merely a trifle. We’ll have a jolly boose when all’s over. Come bing avast, my merry pals; to the green, to the green: a Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!”
“A Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!” echoed the crew.
“I’ve brought you through,” said Jerry, taking advantage of the uproar that ensued to whisper to his chum, “none of them will dare to lift a finger against you now. They are all your friends for life.”
“Nevertheless,” returned Turpin, “I should be glad to know what has become of Bess.”
“If it’s your prancer you are wanting,” chirped a fluttering creature whom Turpin recognised as Luke’s groom, Grasshopper, “I gave her a fresh loaf and a stoup of stingo, as you bade me, and there she be, under yon tree, as quiet as a lamb.”
“I see her,” replied Turpin; “just tighten her girths, Grasshopper, and bring her after me, and thou shalt have wherewithal to chirp over thy cups at supper.”
Away bounded the elfin dwarf to execute his behest.
A loud shout now rent the skies, and presently afterwards was heard the vile scraping of a fiddle, accompanied by the tattoo of a drum. Approaching Turpin, a host of gipsies elevated the highwayman upon their shoulders, and in this way he was carried to the centre of the green, where the long oaken table, which had once served the Franciscans for refection, was now destined for the stage of the pageant.
Upon this table three drums were placed; and Turpin was requested to seat himself on the central one. A solemn prelude, more unearthly than the incantation in the Freyschütz, was played by the orchestra of the band, conducted by the Paganini of the place, who elicited the most marvellous notes from his shell. A couple of shawms11 emitted sepulchral sounds, while the hollow rolling of the drum broke ever and anon upon the ear. The effect was prodigiously fine. During this overture the patrico and the upright man had ascended the rostrum, each taking their places; the former on the right hand of Turpin, the latter upon his left. Below them stood the knight of Malta, with Excalibur drawn in his hand, and gleaming in the sunshine. On the whole, Dick was amused with what he saw, and with the novel situation in which he found himself placed. Around the table were congregated a compact mass of heads; so compact, indeed, that they looked like one creature—an Argus, with each eye upturned upon the highwayman. The idea struck Turpin that the restless mass of parti-coloured shreds and patches, of vivid hues and varied tintings, singularly, though accidentally disposed to produce such an effect, resembled an immense tigermoth, or it might be a Turkey carpet, spread out upon the grass!
The scene was a joyous one. It was a brilliant sunshiny morning. Freshened and purified by the storm of the preceding night, the air breathed a balm upon the nerves and senses of the robber. The wooded hills were glittering in light; the brook was flowing swiftly past the edge of the verdant slope, glancing like a wreathed snake in the sunshine—its “quiet song” lost in the rude harmony of the mummers, as were the thousand