The passion of the Devonport children for souvenirs in the shape of pennies and buttons became so violent in a few hours that our small coin was likely to become extinct and our buttons merely things that used to be. Every time a soldier appeared upon the street he was instantly surrounded by a bevy of insistent and persistent mendicants.
Once we sought refuge in a cooling spot where glasses tinkle and the beer foams high—and children might not follow there. The pretty barmaid smiled. The second in command twirled his long moustache and fixed the maiden with his martial eye.
"What will you have, sir?" she inquired sweetly.
The senior major was always gallant to a pretty girl. He drew himself up to his full six feet, two, and saluted. A mellow line from "Omar Khayyám" dropped from his thirsty lips:
"A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness."
How much further he might have gone one cannot say. The girl held up a reproving finger and exclaimed:
"Ah, I see it is black coffee the gentleman requires."
But the major's poetic spirit was aroused. "Avaunt coffee," he cried.
"Shall I distress my ruddy soul
With dusky dregs from coffee urn?
Far sweeter, sweet, to quench its fire
With wine for which the 'innards' yearn.
A glass of beer, please."