Page:Soldiers Three - Kipling (1890).djvu/62

 wid the chill off. When I got clear, I was, savin' your presince, Sorr, outragis sick bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day.

"Well an' far out av harm was a Sargint av the Tyrone sittin' on the little orf'cer bhoy who had stopped Crook from rowlin' the rocks. O he was a beautiful bhoy, an' the long black curses was sliding out av his innocint mouth like mornin'-jew from a rose!

Fwhat have you got there?' sez I to the Sargint.

Wan av Her Majesty's bantams wid his spurs up,' sez he. 'He's goin' to Coort-martial me.'

Let me go!' sez the little orf'cer bhoy. 'Let me go and command my men!' manin' thereby the Black Tyrone which was beyond any command—ay, even av they had made the Divil a Field-orf'cer.

His father howlds my mother's cow-feed in Clonmel,' sez the man that was sittin' on him, 'Will I go back to his mother an' tell her that I've let him throw himself away? Lie still, ye little pinch av dynamite, an' Coort-martial me aftherwards.'

Good,' sez I; 'tis the likes av him makes the likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we must presarve thim. Fwhat d' you want to do, Sorr?' sez I, very politeful.

Kill the beggars—kill the beggars!' he shqueaks; his big blue eyes fairly brimmin' wid tears.

An' how'll ye do that?' sez I. 'You've shquibbed off your revolver like a child wid a cracker; you can make no play wid that fine larze sword av yours; an' your hand's shakin' like an asp on a leaf. Lie still and grow,' sez I.

Get back to your comp'ny,' sez he; 'you're insolint!'

All in good time,' sez I, 'but I'll have a dhrink first.'

"Just thin Crook comes up, blue an' white all over where he wasn't red.

Wather!' sez he; 'I'm dead wid drouth! O, but it's a gran' day!'

"He dhrank half a skinful, and the rest he tilts into his chest, an' it fair hissed on the hairy hide av him. He sees the little orf'cer bhoy undher the Sargint.