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One day a dirty note was put into his hand by a small black youth he had never seen before. It was brief but pointed: "I am sik. Com to Sharty Hospitl. He ain't duin nuthen fer me. "Mistah Breckenridge" carefully placed the note in his pocket, put his hat on his head, and went to the Charity Hospital. It was not hard to find Hannah.
It's more like one o' the camps o' them slack-twisted Kaintucky and Tennessee rijimints." "If Oi didn't belave that Si Klegg and Sharty was did intoirely, and up home in Injianny, Oi'd be sure that was their v'ices," said a voice from the thicket by the side of the road.
The next instant a redheaded man, with a very distinct map of Ireland in his face, leaped out, shouting: "Si and Sharty, ye thieves of the worruld, whin did ye get back, and how are yez? Howly saints, but Oi'm glad to see yez." "Jim Monaghan, you old Erin-go-bragh," said Shorty, putting his arm around the man's neck, "may I never see the back o' my neck, but I'm glad to see you.
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