“‘Will ye not help us to do aught,’ sez another—‘a big bould man like you?’
“‘I will break his head upon his shoulthers av he puts hand on me,’ sez I. ‘I will give him the lie av he says that I’m dhirty, an’ I wud not mind duckin’ him in the Artillery troughs if ut was not that I’m thryin’ for my shtripes.’
“‘Is that all ye will do?’ sez another. ‘Have ye no more spunk than that, ye blood-dhrawn calf?’
“‘Blood-dhrawn I may be,’ sez I, gettin’ back to my cot an’ makin’ my line round ut; ‘but ye know that the man who comes acrost this mark will be more blood-dhrawn than me. No man gives me the name in my mouth,’ I sez. ‘Ondersthand, I will have no part wid you in anythin’ ye do, nor will I raise my fist to my shuperior. Is any wan comin’ on?’ sez I.
“They made no move, tho’ I gave them full time, but stud growlin’ an’ snarlin’ together at wan ind av the room. I tuk up my cap and wint out to Canteen, thinkin’ no little av mesilf, and there I grew most ondacintly dhrunk in my legs. My head was all reasonable.
“‘Houligan,’ I sez to a man in E Comp’ny that was by way av bein’ a frind av mine; ‘I’m overtuk from the belt down. Do you give me the touch av your shoulther to presarve my formation an’ march me acrost the ground into the high grass. I’ll sleep ut off there,’ sez I; an’ Houligan—he’s dead now, but good he was while he lasted—walked wid me, givin’ me the touch whin I wint wide, ontil we came to the high grass, an’, my faith, the sky an’ the earth was fair rowlin’ undher me. I made for where the grass was thickust, an’ there I slep’ off my liquor wid an easy conscience. I did not desire to come on books too frequent; my characther havin’ been shpotless for the good half av a year.
“Whin I roused, the dhrink was dyin’ out in me, an’ I felt as though a she-cat had littered in my mouth. I had not learned to hould my liquor wid comfort in thim days. ’Tis little betther I am now. ‘I will get Houligan to pour a bucket over my head,’ thinks I, an’ I wud ha’ risen, but I heard some wan say: ‘Mulvaney can take the blame av ut for the backslidin’ hound he is.’
“‘Oho!’ sez I, an’ my head rang like a guard-room gong: ‘fwhat is the blame that this young man must take to oblige Tim Vulmea?’ For ’twas Tim Vulmea that shpoke.
“I turned on my belly an’ crawled through the grass, a bit at a time, to where the spache came from. There was the twelve av my room sittin’ down in a little patch, the dhry grass wavin’ above their heads an’ the sin av black murdher in their hearts. I put the stuff aside to get a clear view.
“‘Fwhat’s that?’ sez wan man, jumpin’ up.