O'Sheevo.—Yes, in a day or two. It's very good to rub up a little military stuff occasionally, but it is bad taste to be always talking shop. We've had a good dose for to-night, and to-morrow we must have a little light, easy conversation. Touch Oldham's arm, will you, Pipeclay, and let's jog. (Pipeclay shakes Oldham.)
Oldham.—Damned forward young humbugs! what the devil do they know about it? eh? what, going to mizzle?
O'Sheevo.—Yes, the jug's empty, and I'm telling Lovell he must come again, and he'll like it better, and we'll make a soldier of him at last.
Oldham.—Ah! I'm afraid you'll do no good with any of them nowadays; he should have been in the 107th. Well, good-night, Lovell; we'll do what we can.
O'Sheevo—Pipeclay.—Good-night, Lovell; sleep upon it.
(Exeunt Pipeclay, O'Sheevo, and Oldham. Lovell remains to light a cigar.)
Lovell.—Good-night. Well, I don't know but I might have spent the evening just as profitably if I'd gone to Jones's room, as he asked me. These old fellows are devilish close. However, patience, as the adjutant says. (Exit.)