"Here! if you mean me," said another.
"Good! Black Jack."
"On patrole," said the captain.
"Red Mug."
"At the book," answered the man in the ranks; and here rose another laugh.
"Red Mug! do you mind me?" said Habershaw, in a threatening tone, as his eye squinted fiercely towards the person addressed.
"Platter Breech."
"I'll stand out against the nickname," said the person intended to be designated, whilst the whole squad began to give symptoms of a mutiny of merriment. "I'll be d——d if I will have it, and that's as good as if I swore to it. I am not going to be cajoled at by the whole company."
"Silence! Blood and butter, you villains!" roared the captain. "Don't you see that you're in line? How often have I told you that it's against discipline to chirp above a whisper when you are drawn out? Take care that I hav'n't to remind you of that again! Andy Clopper, you will keep the denomination I have set upon you. Platter Breech is a good soldier-like name, and you shall die in it, if I bid you. Go on, Orderly—proceed!"
"Marrow Bone."