My friend, Private Mulvaney, was one of the
sentries, because he was the tallest man in the regiment. When the
dance was fairly started the sentries were released, and Private
Mulvaney went to curry favour with the Mess Sergeant in charge of the
supper. Whether the Mess Sergeant gave or Mulvaney took, I cannot say.
All that I am certain of is that, at supper-time, I found Mulvaney
with Private Ortheris, two-thirds of a ham, a loaf of bread, half a
_pate-de-foie-gras_, and two magnums of champagne, sitting on the roof
of my carriage. As I came up I heard him saying--
'Praise be a danst doesn't come as often as Ord'ly-room, or, by this
an' that, Orth'ris, me son, I wud be the dishgrace av the rig'mint
instid av the brightest jool in uts crown.'
'_Hand_ the Colonel's pet noosance,' said Ortheris. 'But wot makes you
curse your rations? This 'ere fizzy stuff's good enough.'
'Stuff, ye oncivilised pagin! 'Tis champagne we're dhrinkin' now.
'Tisn't that I am set ag'in. 'Tis this quare stuff wid the little bits
av black leather in it. I misdoubt I will be distressin'ly sick wid
it in the mornin'.
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