Oldham.—Well, now,—look here. Well, here's Cherbourg, this glass, do you see? well then, this is Portsmouth, this other—and this dirty one, if I can reach it—damn it, I've broke my own, stretching, across the table.
O'Sheevo—Pipeclay.—Two for one! Two for one!
Oldham.—Well, never mind; 'twas awkward. We don't stand the jokes the old 107th used to cut: there, if you only made the smallest chip in the stem of a glass, you were stuck for your new pair, while the damaged one did duty as well as ever. There wasn't a glass in the mess that hadn't reproduced itself in double at least nine times.
O'Sheevo.—By the powers! that beats the phaynix, who never became twins, that I heard of. I'd not have stood it from any one. A glass that I broke and paid for, I'd consider my own intirely.
Pipeclay.—They had no right to put a glass on the table after it had been paid for; the regulations wouldn't allow it.
Oldham.—Oh! nobody knew any thing about the regulations in the old 107th. The colonel was a trump, and the lads were trumps, so they followed suit, and no lawyering.
Pipeclay.—A colonel has no right to enforce an unjust charge.
Oldham.—Well, perhaps not; but in our days we never troubled our heads about what was just or unjust. It's a bad sign of a corps when men begin to talk of their rights.
Lovell.—True, Oldham; you were saying, suppose that Cherbourg, the other Portsmouth—here's a third glass for you to complete.
Pipeclay.—I beg your pardon one minute, Lovell. I wish to convince Oldham that there is some advantage in knowing how to assert your own rights.