"Well, what did you enlist for?"
"You've asked me that many times, sir, and I don't know. . . . I'd rather be around, handy like——"
"You'll get killed some day, don't you know it?"
"No, sir. I guess you'll look out for me. You always did."
"How the devil can I prevent one of those big shells from knocking you off your horse!"
Burgess, patient, undisturbed, let the, question go with a slight smile.
"What a jackass you are!" said Berkley irritably; "here's a dollar to get some pie. And if you can cheat that cursed sutler, do it!"
He himself purchased two big pies from the sutler after an angry haggle in which he was easily worsted; and he munched away contentedly as he walked toward the lines of the 3rd Zouaves, his spurs and sabre jingling, Burgess following respectfully at heel.
"Hello, Steve!" he called out to a sun-burnt young zouave who was drying his freshly washed turban in the hill breeze. "I always heard you fellows wore infant's underclothes, but I never believed it before!"
"That's my turban, you idiot!" retorted Stephen, turning red as several of McDunn's artillerymen began to laugh. But he came over and shook hands and accepted a big piece of pie without further resentment. "Hello, Burgess," he added.