Sergeant," he said, "it's d----d cold out here. Beer's more in my line
though. Salue!"

He took a swallow or two; the bottle changed hands.

"Eyah!" remarked Slavin sometime later--cuddling the bottle at the "port
arms." "'Tis put th' kibosh on many a good man in th' ould Force has
this same dhrink. Th' likes av Yorkey there"--he jerked his head at the
lighted window--"shud never touch ut--never touch ut! . . . Cannot
flirrt wid a bottle--'tis wedded they wud be tu ut. Now meself"--he
paused impressively--"I can take me dhrink like a ginthleman--can take
ut, or lave ut alone."

Absorptive demonstration followed. Came a long-drawn, smacking "Ah-hh!"
"A sore thrial tu me is that same man," he resumed, "wan more break on
his part, as ye have seen this night . . . an' I musht--I will take
shteps wid um."

"Why don't you transfer him back to the Post?" queried George,
wonderingly, mindful of how swiftly that disciplinary measure had
rewarded his own reckless conduct at the Gleichen detachment. "He's got
nothing on you, has he?"

"_Fwhat_?" . . . Slavin, turning like a flash, glared sharply at him out
of deep-set scowling eyes, "Fwhat?"

Tonelessly, George repeated his query,

Slavin's glare gradually faded. "Eyah!" he affirmed presently, "he
has! . . ." came a long pause--"but not as yu mane ut . . . oh! begorrah,