'Orrice, an' 'e 'adn't got no blue eyes nor golden 'airs. 'Is name was called Cully 'Ookit, an' 'e had black eyes—most days o' the week any'ow—an' black 'air where 'e weren't bald, an' 'e wasn't the support o' no widowed muvver neither. No,—'e'd gorn an' deserted 'er, 'e 'ad, just acause she'd burnt 'is face wiv a fryin'-pan an' bashed 'im a bit wiv a poker, through gettin' delirious trimmings, 'er bein' partial to a drop o' gin"
"Disgusting," murmured Mrs. Perfect.
". . . an' a bit o' exercise a-Saturday nights. No, 'e weren't no golden-eyed 'Orrice, but the funny thing abaht it is, that when 'e run away an' went fer a sojer, 'e must a 'listed in the Fifes an' Drums o' the werry same Regiment as 'Orrice once adorned, as Mrs. Puffick so truly told yer"
Mrs. Perfect sniffed.
"There couldn't a bin two sich Regiments, so it must a bin the same one—all good, self-respectin', total-abstainin' men, as never drank nor smoked nor used langwidge nor caused their Colonel a moment's anxiety. Six 'undred an' fifty of 'em, there was, an' six 'undred an'
