More Old Soldiers Than One

           Mr.Georgehasnotfartoridewithfoldedarmsuponthebox,fortheirdestinationisLincoln’sInnFields.Whenthedriverstopshishorses,Mr.Georgealights,andlookinginatthewindow,says,"What,Mr.Tulkinghorn’syourman,ishe?""Yes,mydearfriend.Doyouknowhim,Mr.George?""Why,Ihaveheardofhim—seenhimtoo,Ithink.ButIdon’tknowhim,andhedon’tknowme."ThereensuesthecarryingofMr.Smallweedupstairs,whichisdonetoperfectionwiththetrooper’shelp.HeisborneintoMr.Tulkinghorn’sgreatroomanddepositedontheTurkeyrugbeforethefire.Mr.Tulkinghornisnotwithinatthepresentmomentbutwillbebackdirectly.Theoccupantofthepewinthehall,havingsaidthusmuch,stirsthefireandleavesthetriumviratetowarmthemselves.Mr.Georgeismightilycuriousinrespectoftheroom.Helooksupatthepaintedceiling,looksroundattheoldlaw-books,contemplatestheportraitsofthegreatclients,readsaloudthenamesontheboxes."’SirLeicesterDedlock,Baronet,’"Mr.Georgereadsthoughtfully."Ha!’ManorofChesneyWold.’Humph!"Mr.Georgestandslookingattheseboxesalongwhile—asiftheywerepictures—andcomesbacktothefirerepeating,"SirLeicesterDedlock,Baronet,andManorofChesneyWold,hey?""Worthamintofmoney,Mr.George!"whispersGrandfatherSmallweed,rubbinghislegs."Powerfullyrich!""Whodoyoumean?Thisoldgentleman,ortheBaronet?""Thisgentleman,thisgentleman.""SoIhaveheard;andknowsathingortwo,I’llholdawager.Notbadquarters,either,"saysMr.George,lookingroundagain.