"Well, lad--a' ha' dune it this toime."
"Done what, Apollyon?" asked Craddock.
"A' dunnot roightly kna', but a' ha' dune it, for sartin sure," replied Joe Banks, succinctly; and then he told the story.
"One of them gazes[[1]] as they call 'em," interrupted Craddock, when the big man told of his discovery in a sort of hushed voice. "They makes 'em male an' female--the latter most wicious. Bad lots out o' the bazaar, needin' a passport to the skies--or the devil."
Joey Banks' big fist came down like a sledgehammer on Craddock's knee.
"Hush, mon!" he said peremptorily. "She woan't none that sort. When a' kissed her--" he stopped short, and blushed furiously.
"Apollyon!" remarked Craddock, after a pause, with great severity. "It ain't wholesome to keep sech things comfortable in yer own buzzum. It's better to 'ave up an' done with it an' begin agin. When you kiss her--w'ot then?"
But Joe Banks' shining eyes were looking out into the soft darkness, soft and dark for all their shininess. "A' meant to 'a' keppen coont--but a' didn't somehow." His voice was quite dreamy, and Craddock rose in wrath.
"It's my belief, same as I was in the catechising, Joey Banks, that you bin an' fallen in love with a female gaze; but mark my word--there ain't no gratitoode to speak of in gazes, and she'll nick you yet, sure as my name's Nathaniel James. She'll nick you yet, I du assure you."
But Craddock was wrong. Whatever else she did, the Most Nailin' Bad Shot shot no more. Not that it mattered much to Joey Banks whether she did or not, since but a few days after there was a "casoolty" in Number One outpost, Volunteer Joseph Banks, sometime canal overseer, was reported missing after a sortie; but as he had been last seen mortally wounded close to the city wall, his comrades mourned Apollyon from the first as dead. So as Craddock said feelingly, "there weren't even a lock o' 'is 'air for 'is old mother, an' she was a widder."