"What the devil are you doing there, you fool?" asked his friend in a surly tone—"don't you know the picquet's after you?"
"I've got some little things here that I want to lay by, where nobody won't see 'em, in case I'm catched," returned Bags. "Don't you take no notice of me, Bill, and I'll be off directly."
"What have ye got?" asked Bill, whose curiosity was awakened by the proceedings of his friend.
"Some little matters that I picked up in the town," returned Bags. "Pity you should be on guard to-day, Bill—there was some pretty pickings. I'll save something for you, Bill," added Bags, in an unaccountable access of generosity.
The sentry, however, who was a person in every way worthy of the friendship of Mr Bags, expressed no gratitude for the considerate offer, but began poking at the bundle with his bayonet.
"Hands off, Bill," said Bags, "they won't abear touching."
"Let's see 'em," said Bill.
"Not a bit on it," said Bags; "they ain't aworth looking at."
"Suppose I was to call the sergeant of the guard," said Bill.
"You wouldn't do such a action?" said Bags, in a tone strongly expressive of disgust at such baseness. "No, no, Bill, you ain't that sort of fellow, I'm sure."