"We hain't got no salt to put on their tails," explained Glover, grinning more with pain than with his joke.
"I'd ate 'em widout salt," said Sweeny. "If the tails was feathers, I'd ate 'em."
"We must camp early, and try our luck at hunting," observed Thurstane.
"I go for campin' airly," groaned the limping and tottering Glover.
"Och! yees ud like to shlape an shnore an' grunt and rowl over an' shnore agin the whole blissid time," snapped Sweeny, always angered by a word of discouragement. "Yees ought to have a dozen o' thim nagurs wid their long poles to make a fither bed for yees an' tuck up the blankets an' spat the pilly. Why didn't ye shlape all ye wanted to whin yees was in the boat?"
"Quietly, Sweeny," remonstrated Thurstane. "Mr. Glover marches with great pain."
"I've no objiction to his marchin' wid great pain or annyway Godamighty lets him, if he won't grunt about it."
"But you must be civil, my man."
"I ax yer pardon, Liftinant. I don't mane no harrum by blatherin'. It's a way we have in th' ould counthry. Mebbe it's no good in th' arrmy."
"Let him yawp, Capm," interposed Glover. "It's a way they hev, as he says. Never see two Paddies together but what they got to fightin' or pokin' fun at each other. Me an' Sweeny won't quarrel. I take his clickatyclack for what it's worth by the cart-load. 'Twon't hurt me. Dunno but what it's good for me."