“‘Oh, do ‘ee think of that dreadful stroke of the sun, Tom. It will set you crazy if you drink any more.’
“‘The stroke of the sun be anged!’ said I; ‘it’s not in my ead this time—it’s in the other end of me.’
“‘Oh dear, dear!’ said Betty; ‘two such marks as them, and you so handsome too! Oh dear, dear!’
“Poor old soul! it’s a way she had of trying to come round me.
“‘Where is it?’ said M’Clure.
“‘In the calf of my leg,’ said I.
“Well, he was a handy man, for he had been a hospital-sargeant, on account of being able to read doctors’ pot-hooks and inscriptions. So he cut my boot, and stript down my stocking and looked at it. Says he, ‘I must make a turn-and-quit.’
“‘Oh, Rory,’ said I, ‘don’t turn and quit your old comrade that way.’
“‘Oh, Rory, dear,’ said Betty, ‘don’t ‘ee leave Tom now—don’t ’ee, that’s a good soul.’
“‘Pooh!’ said he, ‘nonsense! How your early training has been neglected, Jackson!’