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Ah thought you was a Frenchman, Andy.... Ah guess you got yer dis-charge then. God, Ah'm glad." "I'm glad I look like a Frenchman, anyway.... Been on leave long, Chris?" Two buttons were off the front of Chrisfield's uniform; there were streaks of dirt on his face, and his puttees were clothed with mud. He looked Andrews seriously in the eyes, and shook his head. "No.
From them the long row of cots, with here and there a man asleep or a man hastily undressing, stretched, lighted by occasional feeble electric-light bulbs, to the sergeant's little table beside the door. "You're gettin' a dis-charge, aren't you?" asked a man with a brogue, and the red face of a jovial gorilla, that signified the bartender. "Yes, Flannagan, I am," said the lanky man dolefully.
"So that vere the end o' the Corp's soldiering!" nodded Mr. Shrig. "Yes," sighed the Corporal, "a one-handed soldier ain't much good, ye see, sir." "So they throwed 'im out!" snarled Mr. Shrig. "Now Jarsper," smiled the giant, shaking his head. "Why so 'ard on the sarvice? They give me m' stripe." "And your dis-charge!" added Mr. Shrig. "And a pension," said the soldier. "Pension," sniffed Mr.
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