"By Gar, dat's about vat it should be!" exclaimed Bateese. "Now, my Emmiline she boss me inside alvays. She say, 'Bateese, you come here.' I come. 'You go dere.' I come too. She say, 'Bateese, vous garçon, vat you make dat splash on de floor?' I say, 'Pardonnez moi, mon ami,' She say, 'All right,' an' I don't make it no more. Den I go outside and make splash all over eff I want to."
"And do you want to?" said Hardman. For answer Bateese shrugged his shoulders.
"How is Emmiline tonight?" Mrs. Hardman asked. "I 'aven't seen her since morning.
"She be nice—but I stay 'most too long—she vant you to come and see her again right away."
"And how is the boy?"
"Fine! Oh, mon fils, he beeg bouncing garçon. Doctare say he weigh ten pound—an' he so goot he almost laff."
"Bateese, you're crazy."
"Veil! he open his eye and try to laugh—den—cause he can't, he cry."
And Bateese hurried off, after his long wait, to tell Emmiline that Mrs. Hardman was coming.
One Sunday morning several weeks later, the Chaplain was waited on by Bateese. Breakfast was over, and having arranged his books and notes, he was putting on his surplice in preparation for the service he was about to hold in the barrack yard.