He was
a bad dhrill was this Capt'n--a rotten bad dhrill--an' whin first I
ran me eye over him, I sez to myself: "My Militia bantam!" I sez, "My
cock av a Gosport dunghill"--'twas from Portsmouth he came to
us--"there's combs to be cut," sez I, "an' by the grace av God,'tis
Terence Mulvaney will cut thim."
'So he wint menowderin', and minanderin', an' blandandherin' roun' an'
about the Colonel's daughter, an' she, poor innocint, lookin' at him
like a Comm'ssariat bullock looks at the Comp'ny cook. He'd a dhirty
little scrub av a black moustache, an' he twisted an' turned ivry wurrd
he used as av he found ut too sweet for to spit out. Eyah! He was a
tricky man an' a liar by natur'. Some are born so. He was wan. I knew
he was over his belt in money borrowed from natives; besides a lot av
other matthers which, in regard for your presince, Sorr, I will
oblitherate. A little av fwhat I knew, the Colonel knew, for he wud
have none av him, an' that, I'm thinkin', by fwhat happened aftherwards,
the Capt'n knew.
'Wan day, bein' mortial idle, or they wud never ha' thried ut, the
rig'mint gave amshure theatricals--orf'cers an' orf'cers' ladies.
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