Tom had recognised him and gave him a patronising nod.
Tom, a little wretch whom he had cut over the back with a hockey-stick last quarter--and there he was in the centre of the square, rallying round the flag of his country, surrounded by bayonets, crossbelts, and scarlet, the band blowing trumpets and banging cymbals--talking familiarly to immense warriors with tufts to their chins and Waterloo medals.

What would not Pen have given to wear such epaulettes and enter such a service?
But Helen Pendennis, when this point was proposed to her by her son, put on a face full of terror and alarm.

She said she "did not quarrel with others who thought differently, but that in her opinion a Christian had no right to make the army a profession.

Mr.Pendennis never, never would have permitted his son to be a soldier.

Finally, she should be very unhappy if he thought of it." Now Pen would have as soon cut off his nose and ears as deliberately, and of aforethought malice, made his mother unhappy; and, as he was of such a generous disposition that he would give away anything to any one, he instantly made a present of his visionary red coat and epaulettes and his ardour for military glory to his mother.
She thought him the noblest creature in the world.