hysteria. He does not weep, but he shows his trouble unmistakably, and
the consequences get into the newspapers, and all the good people who
hardly know a Martini from a Snider say: 'Take away the brute's
ammunition!'

Thomas isn't a brute, and his business, which is to look after the
virtuous people, demands that he shall have his ammunition to his hand.
He doesn't wear silk stockings, and he really ought to be supplied
with a new Adjective to help him to express his opinions: but, for all
that, he is a great man. If you call him 'the heroic defender of the
national honour' one day, and a 'brutal and licentious soldiery' the
next, you naturally bewilder him, and he looks upon you with suspicion.
There is nobody to speak for Thomas except people who have theories
to work off on him; and nobody understands Thomas except Thomas, and
he does not always know what is the matter with himself.

That is the prologue. This is the story:--

Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to Miss Jhansi M'Kenna, whose
history is well known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had his
Colonel's permission, and, being popular with the men, every arrangement
had been made to give the wedding what Private Ortheris called 'eeklar.'
It fell in the heart of the hot weather, and, after the wedding, Slane
was going up to the Hills with the bride. None the less, Slane's
grievance was that the affair would be only a hired-carriage wedding,
and he felt that the 'eeklar' of that was meagre. Miss M'Kenna did not
care so much. The Sergeant's wife was helping her to make her
wedding-dress, and she was very busy. Slane was, just then, the only
moderately contented man in barracks. All the rest were more or less
miserable.