"Young Murphy," said I, "thou owest for eight of the best."
"Oh, come off! What d'ye think yer playing at?"
"Surely," said I, "the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood."
It did, and Murphy paid.
The box of cigars having netted twelve dollars, I got seven others worse than the first which fell on a stony crowd but yielded two hundredfold.
Next, the steamer cook sold me a litter of little pigs, and our cook supplied the husks which my swine did eat, so that they grew and waxed fat and kicked over the oat bin.
"Some evil beast," I told Buckie, "hath devoured two whole sacks of oats, and the quartermaster, he rageth furiously. He calleth upon the officer commanding, so I've sold out all my pigs. They're not our pigs now, Buckie—not unto us the praise—not unto us."
Buckie had a natural aptitude for being shocked. Two of him plus one harmonium would equal a mother's meeting.
The padre was a bigot, Buckie a prude, the boys were just ruffians, and none of them understood that I, the poor troop jester, with an aching heart, felt the need, the first faint stirrings of a real religion.
II