But as I lay still, trying hard to fall asleep, the irritation increased. At last it became so maddening that I started up in bitter rage. I lit my candle and pulled off my shirt.
Lousy.
"Chatty* are yer?" said someone in an amused tone.
"I've got a big one crawling about somewhere," I answered. None of us ever admitted that we had more than one or two, even when we knew we had a great many. It was also considered less disreputable to have one "big one" than two small ones.
"It's the Gink's fault—'e swarms with 'em. I was standin' be'ind 'im in the ranks the other day an' I saw three of 'em crorlin' out of 'is collar up 'is neck. 'E never washes and never changes 'is clothes, so what can yer expect?"
The "Gink" flared up at once:
"Yer god-damn son of a bitch—it's youss guys that never washes. I bet yer me borram dollar I ant got a god-damn chat on me...."
A long wrangle ensued. Wild threats and foul insults were flung about. But the quarrel, like nearly all our quarrels, did not go beyond violent words.
I began to search and soon found a big swollen louse. I crushed it with my thumb-nail so that the blood spurted out. I heard several faint cracks coming from the opposite side of the tent and knew that others were also hunting for vermin.
I examined the seams of my shirt and found two or three more. Then, to my dismay, I discovered several eggs. They are so minute that some are sure to escape the most careful scrutiny. The presence of eggs is always a warning that many nights of irritation will have to pass by before the young grow sufficiently big to be discovered easily.