sentin' the pistol at pore 'Ookit's ead—'put it dahn hor die. . . .'
"And in three gulps pore 'Ookit puts it dahn, aburnin' 'is little blue-eyed throat most 'orrible in so doin'.
"‘Faithful to the last,' he cried. 'I 'ave obeyed your cruel orders though it scald my stummick so to do'—and 'e fell at 'is Colonel's feet dead . . . drunk."
Mrs. Perfect snorted.
"Drunk he were, drunk all night 'e remained, an' so drunk 'e was in the mornin' that 'e couldn't git up—an' the regiment entrained while 'e lay wrop in swinish slumber. So wrop he were that when 'e reached the station the train 'ad gorn, bearin' those six 'undred and forty-nine good, self-respectin', total habstainin' men to their 'orrible doom. For a havalanche crashed dahn upon that train, leavin' only Cully 'Ookit of all that battalion to tell the awful tale. . . ."
Bobball sighed, and pressed down the tobacco in his pipe. "The tale's called ‘Saved by a Glass o' Rum,’" added Bobball, as he struck a match and avoided the eye of Mrs. Perfect.
