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"Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dockrat he was wan av the bhoys that made the lessee av Silver's Theatre grey before his time wid tearin' out the bowils av the benches an' t'rowin' thim into the pit. So I passed the wurrud that I knew when I was in the Tyrone an' we lay in Dublin. 'I don't know who 'twas, I whispers, 'an' I don't care, but anyways I'll knock the face av you, Tim Kelly.
'Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dock-rat he was wan av the bhoys that made the lessee av Silver's Theatre gray before his time wid tearin' out the bowils av the benches an' t'rowin' thim into the pit. So I passed the wurrud that I knew when I was in the Tyrone an' we lay in Dublin. "I don't know who 'twas," I whispers, "an' I don't care, but anyways I'll knock the face av you, Tim Kelly."
'Twas the sword hangin' on the tentpole changed my will. "Can't I help, Sorr?" sez I; "'tis a strong man's job they've given you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown." He was a bhoy wid bowils, that child, an' a rale gintleman. "Sit down," sez he. "Not before my orf'cer," sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service was. "I've heard av you," sez he. "You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid."
They waited till the remnint av the battalion was up, and thin clane against ordhers, for who wanted that chune that day? they wint back to Peshawur slow-time an' tearin' the bowils out av ivry man that heard, wid 'The Dead March. Right across our line they wint, an' ye know their uniforms are as black as the Sweeps, crawlin' past like the dead, an' the other bands damnin' them to let be.
An' by the Holy Articles av War, whin they wint aboord they cheered him till they cudn't spake, an' that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf' in the mlm'ry av livin' man! You look to that little orf'cer bhoy. He has bowils. 'Tis not ivry child that wud chuck the Rig'lations to Flanders an' stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an' dilapidated ould carkiss like mysilf.
"I wint to the ould Color Sargint and I sez: 'Let me die in glory, sez I. 'I've seen a man this day! "'A man he is, sez ould Hother; 'the draf's as sick as a herrin'. They'll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonmint av Gin'rals. "'Amin, sez I, 'an' good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or by sea. Let me know how the draf' gets clear.
Twas the sword hangin' on the tent-pole changed my will. "'Can't I help, sorr? sez I; ''tis a strong man's job they've given you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown. He was a bhoy wid bowils, that child, an' a rale gintleman. "'Sit down, sez he. "'Not before my orf'cer, sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service was. "'I've heard av you, sez he. 'You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid.
"I wint to the ould Colour-Sargint and I sez: 'Let me die in glory, sez I. 'I've seen a man this day! "'A man he is, sez ould Hother; 'the draf's as sick as a herrin'. They'll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonmint av Gin'rals. "'Amin, sez I, 'an' good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or by sea. Let me know how the draf' gets clear.
An', by the Holy Articles av War, whin they wint aboard they cheered him till they cudn't spake, an' that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf' in the mim'ry av livin' man! You look to that little orf'cer bhoy. He has bowils. 'Tis not ivry child that wud chuck the Rig'lations to Flanders an' stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an' dilapidated ould carkiss like mesilf.
"He was shtandin' by th' Gyard-room gate that day-week whin th' dhraft marched out on their way tu enthrain Nobby amongst thim. 'Good-bye, Docthor! he calls out, tears in th' eyes av um, ''Tis sendhin me tu me grave y'are, God forgive yez! "'Nonsince! shouts Knockemorf. 'Say yeh prayers an' kape yeh bowils opin, me man, an' ye will take no harrm!
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