"Where do you belong?" asked the Colonel.
"To Kunnel Wheatstone's Jawjy rijimint."
"How many men have you got over there in the works."
"Well, a right smart passul."
"What do you mean by a right smart parcel?"
"Well, a good big heap."
"What, a thousand?"
"Yes, I reckon so."
"Ten thousand?"
"I 'spects so."