“You inveterate hypocrite, don’t attempt this nonsense with me. But come, tell me how long you have been here?”
“Just twenty-four of the shortest hours I ever passed at an outpost. But listen,—do you know that voice? Isn’t it O’Shaughnessy?”
“To be sure it is. Hear the fellow’s song.”
“My father cared little for shot or shell,
He laughed at death and dangers;
And he’d storm the very gates of hell
With a company of the ‘Rangers.’
So sing tow, row, row, row, row,” etc.
“Ah, then, Mister Power, it’s twice I’d think of returning your visit, if I knew the state of your avenue. If there’s a grand jury in Spain, they might give you a presentment for this bit of road. My knees are as bare as a commissary’s conscience, and I’ve knocked as much flesh off my shin-bones as would make a cornet in the hussars!”
A regular roar of laughter from both of us apprized Dennis of our vicinity.
“And it’s laughing ye are? Wouldn’t it be as polite just to hold a candle or lantern for me in this confounded watercourse?”
“How goes it, Major?” cried I, extending my hand to him through the window.
“Charley—Charley O’Malley, my son! I’m glad to see you. It’s a hearty laugh you gave us this morning. My friend Mickey’s a pleasant fellow for a secretary-at-war. But it’s all settled now; Crawfurd arranged it for you this afternoon.”
“You don’t say so! Pray tell me all about it.”