“Do yer? Well, you’re bloomin’ well wrong, Maffewson, me lad. My farver ’ad a bout every Saturday arternoon and kep’ it up all day a Sund’y, ’e did—an’ in the werry las’ bout ’e ever ’ad ’e bashed ’is ole woman’s ’ead in wiv’ a bottle.”
“And was hanged?” inquired Dam politely and innocently, but most tactlessly.
“Mind yer own b—— business,” roared Corporal Prag. “Other people’s farvers wasn’t gallows-birds if yourn was. ’Ow’d you look if I come and punched you on the nose, eh? Wot ’ud you do if I come an’ set abaht yer, eh?”
“Break your neck,” replied Dam tersely.
“Ho, yus. And wot ’ud yew say when I calls the guard and they frows you into clink? Without no light, Trooper Maffewson!”
Dam shuddered.
Corporal Prag yet further improved the occasion, earning Dam’s heartfelt blessing.
“Don’t you fergit it, Trooper Maffewson. I’m yore sooperier orficer. You may be better’n me in the Ring, praps, or with the sword (Dam could have killed him in five minutes, with or without weapons), but if I ’olds up my little finger you comes to ’eel—or other’ow you goes ter clink. ’Ung indeed! You look after yer own farver an’ don’ pass remarks on yer betters. Why! You boozin’ waster, I shall be Regimental Sargen’ Majer when you’re a bloomin’ discharged private wiv an ’undred ‘drunks’ in red on yer Defaulter’s Sheet. Regimental Sarjen’ Majer! I shall be an Orficer more like, and walk acrost the crossin’ wot you’re asweepin’, to me Club in bloomin’ well Pickerdilly! Yus. This is the days o’ ? Demockerycy, me lad. ‘Good Lloyd George’s golden days’ as they sing—and steady fellers like me is goin’ to ave C’missh’ns—an’ don’ you fergit it! Farver ’ung indeed!”
“I’m awf’ly sorry, Corporal, really,” apologized Dam. “I didn’t think….”
“No, me lad,” returned the unmollified superior, as he stooped to the other boot, “if you was to think more an’ booze less you’d do better…. ’Ow an’ where you gets ’old of it, beats me. I’ve seed you in delirium trimmings but I ain’t never seed you drinkin’ nor yet smelt it on yer. You’re a cunnin’ ’ound in yer way. One o’ them beastly secret-drinkin’ swine wots never suspected till they falls down ’owlin’ blue ’orrors an’ seem’ pink toadses. Leastways it’s snakes you sees. See ’em oncte too orfen, you will…. See ’em on p’rade one day in front o’ the Colonel. Fall orf yer long-face an get trampled—an’ serve yer glad…. An’ now shut yer silly ’ed an’ don’t chew the mop so much. Let me get some sleep. I ’as respontsibillaties I do….”