sword av yours; an' your hand's shakin' like an asp on a leaf. Lie
still an' grow," sez I.

'"Get back to your comp'ny," sez he; "you're insolint!"

'"All in good time," sez I, "but I'll have a dhrink first."

'Just thin Crook comes up, blue an' white all over where he wasn't red.

'"Wather!" sez he; "I'm dead wid drouth! Oh, but it's a gran' day!"

'He dhrank half a skinful, and the rest he tilts into his chest, an'
it fair hissed on the hairy hide av him. He sees the little orf'cer
bhoy undher the Sargint.

'"Fwhat's yonder?" sez he.

'"Mutiny, Sorr," sez the Sargint, an' the orf'cer bhoy begins pleadin'
pitiful to Crook to be let go: but divil a bit wud Crook budge.

'"Kape him there," he sez, "'tis no child's work this day. By the same
token," sez he, "I'll confishcate that iligant nickel-plated
scent-sprinkler av yours, for my own has been vomitin' dishgraceful!"

'The fork av his hand was black wid the backspit av the machine. So
he tuk the orf'cer bhoy's revolver. Ye may look, Sorr, by my faith,
_there's a dale more done in the field than iver gets into Field
Ordhers!_

'"Come on, Mulvaney," sez Crook; "is this a Coort-martial?" The two