“‘He’ll not do ut again,’ sez I, for I was fightin’ mad.
“Kape way from a man that has been a thrifle crossed in love till the fever’s died down. He rages like a brute beast.
“I wint up to the man in the veranda, manin’, as sure as I sit, to knock the life out av him. He slipped into the open. ‘Fwhat are you doin’ philanderin’ about here, ye scum av the gutter?’ sez I polite, to give him his warnin’, for I wanted him ready.
“He niver lifted his head, but sez, all mournful an’ melancolius, as if he thought I wud be sorry for him: ‘I can’t find her,’ sez he.
“‘My troth,’ sez I, ‘you’ve lived too long—you an’ your seekin’s an’ findin’s in a dacint married woman’s quarters! Hould up your head, ye frozen thief av Genesis,’ sez I, ‘an’ you’ll find all you want an’ more!’
“But he niver hild up, an’ I let go from the shoulder to where the hair is short over the eyebrows.
“‘That’ll do your business,” sez I, but it nearly did mine instid. I put my bodyweight behind the blow, but I hit nothing at all, an’ near put my shoulther out. The Corp’ril man was not there, an’ Annie Bragin, who had been watchin’ from the veranda, throws up her heels, an’ carries on like a cock whin his neck’s wrung by the dhrummer-bhoy. I wint back to her, for a livin’ woman, an’ a woman like Annie Bragin, is more than a p’rade-groun’ full av ghosts. I’d never seen a woman faint before, an’ I stud like a shtuck calf, askin’ her whether she was dead, an’ prayin’ her for the love av me, an’ the love av her husband, an’ the love av the Virgin, to opin her blessed eyes again, an’ callin’ mesilf all the names undher the canopy av Hivin for plaguin’ her wid my miserable a-moors whin I ought to ha’ stud betune her an’ this Corp’ril man that had lost the number av his mess.
“I misremimber fwhat nonsinse I said, but I was not so far gone that I cud not hear a fut on the dirt outside. ’Twas Bragin comin’ in, an’ by the same token Annie was comin’ to. I jumped to the far end av the veranda an’ looked as if butter wudn’t melt in my mouth. But Mrs. Quinn, the Quarter-Master’s wife that was, had tould Bragin about my hangin’ round Annie.
“‘I’m not pleased wid you, Mulvaney,’ sez Bragin, unbucklin’ his sword, for he had been on duty.
“‘That’s bad hearin’,’ I sez, an’ I knew that the pickets were dhriven in. ‘What for, Sargint?’ sez I.