"It was only for yourself, Rake, that I ever wished you to leave me." "God bless you, sir!" said Rake passionately; "them words are better nor ten tosses of brandy! You see, sir, I'm so spry and happy in a wild life, I am, and if so be as you go to them American parts as you spoke on, why I know 'em just as well as I know Newmarket Heath, every bit! They're terrible rips in them parts; kill you as soon as look at you; it makes things uncommon larky out there, uncommon spicy.

You aren't never sure but what there's a bowie knife a-waiting for you." With which view of the delights of Western life, Rake, "feeling like a fool," as he thought himself, for which reason he had diverged into Argentine memories, applied himself to the touching and examining of the rifle with that tenderness which only gunnery love and lore produce.
Cecil sat silent a while, his head drooped down on his hands, while the evening deepened to night.

At last he looked up.
"The King?
Where is he ?" Rake flushed shamefacedly under his tanned skin.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir; behind you." "Behind me ?" "Yes, sir; him and the brown mare.

I couldn't do nothing else with 'em you see, sir, so I shipped him along with us; they don't care for the train a bit, bless their hearts! And I've got a sharp boy a-minding of 'em.

You can easily send 'em on to England from Paris if you're determined to part with 'em; but you know the King always was fond of drums and trumpets and that like.