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"Sargint, put a sintry over these two men." 'The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an' the rest av the night there was no noise at all excipt the stip av the sintry over the two, an' Scrub Greene blubberin' like a child. 'Twas a chilly night, an' faith, ut sobered Peg Barney. 'Just before Revelly, my orf'cer bhoy comes out an' sez: "Loose those men an' send thim to their tents!"
I was sure 'twas he, he was so tall and slim like, an' so I niver said a word until I got to thinkin' over it, and then I couldn't spake. Sure if it had been the loot'nant he wouldn't have backed away from a sintry; he'd 'a' come out bold and given the countersign; but I didn't think o' that.
'Sargint, put a sintry over these two men. "The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an' the rest av the night there was no noise at all excipt the stip av the sintry over the two, an' Scrub Greene blubberin' like a child. 'Twas a chilly night, an' faith, ut sobered Peg Barney.
Only to hand me the kay o' the prison, remove the sintry, an' then go quietly to yer bed wid five hundred pound in goold benathe yar hid to drame on." To add weight to his proposal he drew forth the bag of nuggets from one of his capacious coat pockets and held it up to view. "It's not enough," said Gashford, with a stern gruffness of tone and look which sank the petitioner's hopes below zero.
Now, it has occurred to my chum Westly an' me, that it would be better, safer, and surer to buy him up, than to fight for him, an' as I know some o' you fellers has dug up more goold than you knows well what to do wid, an' you've all got liberal hearts lastewise ye should have, if ye haven't I propose, an' second the resolootion, that we make up some five hundred pounds betune us, an' presint it to Bully Gashford as a mark of our estaim if he'll on'y give us up the kay o' the prison, put Patrick Flinders, Esquire, sintry over it, an' then go to slape till breakfast-time tomorry mornin'."
"Is it there ye are, avic?" he said, in a hoarse whisper, as he advanced with caution and outstretched hands to prevent coming against obstructions. "Yes; who are you?" replied Tom Brixton, in a stern voice. "Whist, now, or ye'll git me into throuble. Sure, I'm yer sintry, no less, an' yer chum Pat Flinders." "Indeed, Paddy! I'm surprised that they should select you to be my jailer."
Awaking with a start under the impression that he was falling off the tree, he threw out both his arms violently and recovered himself. "Come, Larry," he muttered to himself, with a facetious smile of the most idiotical description, "don't give way like that, boy. Ain't ye standin' sintry? an' it's death by law to slaip at yer post. Och! but the eyes o' me won't kape open.
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