"'There's no orf'cer, ye ould cook,' sez Scrub; 'we're a bloomin' Republic.'
"'Are you that?' sez I; 'thin I'm O'Connell the Dictator, an' by this you will larn to kape a civil tongue in your rag-box.'
"Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an' wint to the orf'cer's tent. 'Twas a new little bhoy—net wan I'd iver seen before. He was sittin' in his tent, purtendin' not to 'ave ear av the racket.
"I saluted—but for the life av me I mint to shake hands whin I went in. 'Twas the sword hangin' on the tent-pole changed my will.
"'Can't I help, Sorr?' sez I; ''tis a strong man's job they've given you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown.' He was a bhoy wid bowils, that child, an' a rale gintleman.
"'Sit down,' sez he.
"'Not before my orf'cer,' sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service was.
"'I've heard av you,' sez he. 'You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid.'
"'Faith, thinks I, 'that's Honour an' Glory;' for 'twas Lift'nint Brazenose did that job. 'I'm wid ye, Sorr, sez I, 'if 'm av use. They shud niver ha' sent you down wid the draf'. Savin' your presince, Sorr, I sez, ''tis only Lift'nint Hackerston in the Ould Rig'mint can manage a Home draf'.'
"'I've niver had charge of men like this before,' sez he, playin' wid the pens on the table; 'an' I sce by the Rig'lations ———'
"'Shut your oi to the Rig'lations, Sorr,' I sez, 'till the throoper's into blue wather. By the Rig'lations you've got to tuck thim up for the night, or they'll be runnin' foul av my coolies an' makin' a shiverarium half through the country. Can you trust your non-coms, Sorr?'
"'Yes,' sez he.
"'Good,' sez I; 'there'll be throuble before the night. Are you marchin', Sorr?'
