"Tell us some more, Dorlan," one of the bystanders pleaded.
"Ah, g'wan with ye. Sure I'm so dhry now from so much blabbin' I can drink the scuttle-butt[#] dhry, and that without half tryin'."
[#] A tank holding drinking water.
"Let us see the campaign medal the government gave you, will you, Mike?" asked Dick. One of his chief ambitions was to be able some day to wear some of those little bronze medals suspended from the bright colored silk ribbons on his own coat. Their intrinsic value was small but what an honor it would be to have the right to wear them.
Mike Dorlan opened his ditty-box, upon which he was sitting, and fumbling around in its interior brought forth two bronze medals; one considerably larger than the other.
"This one," said he, holding up the larger medal, "is the Sampson Medal, given for bein' on board of a ship of the U.S. Navy in some of the actions against the coastwise towns or with the Spanish Fleet. You all know that Admiral Sampson was in command of our naval forces that bottled up Cervera in the harbor of Santiago. That feller Cervera was a brave man indeed, and he fought like the gentleman he was, with no more chance of escapin' than I have o' bein' made the Commandant of the Corps, and you know how likely that is, bedad. This other little piece of bronze is the regular medal everyone got who was in Cuban waters or on Cuban soil durin' the war. It's the Spanish or West Indian Campaign Medal."
"Why don't you ever wear your ribbons and medal, Mike?" asked Dick. "Believe me, if I had 'em I'd be so proud I'd want to show 'em to everybody I met. I would like to see you with them all on some day at inspection."
"I'll tell ye why, me lad, and ye can belave it or not, as you please; there's one medal I want mor'n all of these combined and until I can wear that one, I'll not be wearin' of any."
* * * * * * * * *
