'"I will be whin I get back to Depôt,” I sez. “Tis

a reconnaissance-honeymoon now,”

“I'm married too,” he sez, puffin’ slow an’ more slow, an’ stopperin’ wid his forefinger.

'"Send you happiness,” I sez. “That's the best hearin’ for a long time.”

‘“Are ye av that opinion?” he sez; an’ thin he began talkin’ av the campaign. The sweat ay Silver's Theatre was not dhry upon him an’ he was prayin’ for more work, I was well contint to lic and listen to the cook-pot lids.

‘Whin he got up off the ground he shtaggered a little, an’ laned over all twisted.

'"Ye've got more than ye bargained for,” I sez “Take an inventory, Larry. "Tis like you're hurt.”

‘He turned round stiff as a ramrod an’ damned the eyes av me up an’ down for an impartinent Irish-faced ape. If that had been in barracks, I’d ha’ stretched him an’ no more said; but ‘twas at the Front, an’ afther such a fight as Silver's Theatre I knew there was no callin’ a man to account for his tempers. He might as well ha’ kissed me. Aftherwards I was well pleased I kept my fists home. Thin our Captain Crook—Cruik-na-bulleen—came up, He’d been talkin’ to the little orf’cer bhoy av the Tyrone. “ We're all cut to windystraws,” he sez, “but the Tyrone are damned short for noncoms. Go you over there, Mulvaney, an’ be Deputy-Sergeant, Corp’ral, Lance, an’ everything else ye can lay hands on till I bid you stop,”

‘I wint over an’ tuk hould. There was wan sergeant left standin’, an’ they’d pay no heed to him. The remnint was me, an’ ’twas full time I came.