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'An' fwhat has happened, ye lumberin' child av calamity, that you're lowing like a cow-calf at the back av the pasture, an' suggestin' invidious excuses for the man Stanley's goin' to kill. Ye'll have to wait another hour yet, little man. Spit it out, Jock, an' bellow melojus to the moon. It takes an earthquake or a bullet graze to fetch aught out av you. Discourse, Don Juan!
Lord be good to me, an' fwhat if she lays here tin year', and you somewheres fillin' the eyes av the aygles with your brains blowed out, neat?" he demanded misanthropically. "Fwhat if she lays here on that gin'ral theory till she's rotted up, sorr?" "Ah well now, Barnay," said St. George grimly, "you couldn't have an easier career."
'Tis little betther I am now. 'I will get Houligan to pour a bucket over my head, thinks I, an' I wud ha' risen, but I heard some wan say: 'Mulvaney can take the blame av ut for the backslidin' hound he is. "'Oho! sez I, an' my head rang like a guard-room gong: 'fwhat is the blame that this young man must take to oblige Tim Vulmea? For 'twas Tim Vulmea that shpoke.
"Look here, all of you! . . . This man's been shot through the head, too!" He indicated the small, circular orifice in the occiput, and its egress below the left eye. "Only an exceedingly powerful, high-pressure weapon could have done that," he continued significantly, "both holes are alike bullet hasn't 'mushroomed' at all." "Eyah!" Slavin agreed wearily. "We know fwhat kind av a gun did ut.
'No, sez the coolie; 'I'd like to make a presint av ut to you. 'I am graciously pleased to accept that same, sez the red man; an' at that all the coolies cried aloud in fwhat was mint for cheerful notes, an' wint back to their diggin', lavin' me alone in the shed. The red man saw me, an' his face grew blue on his big, fat neck. 'Fwhat d'you want here? sez he.
"Thrue, my son! This jam thing that I'm talkin' about lasted for five minutes good, an' thin we got our arms clear an' wint in. I misremimber exactly fwhat I did, but I didn't want Dinah to be a widdy at the Depot. Thin, after some promishkuous hackin' we shtuck again, an' the Tyrone behin' was callin' us dogs an' cowards an' all manner av names; we barrin' their way.
Thin I became a man, an' the divil of a man I was fifteen years ago. They called me Buck Mulvaney in thim days, an', begad, I tuk a woman's eye. I did that! Ortheris, ye scrub, fwhat are ye sniggerin' at? Do you misdoubt me? 'Devil a doubt! said Ortheris; 'but I've 'eard summat like that before! Mulvaney dismissed the impertinence with a lofty wave of his hand and continued
"Wil, in troth, they looked more loike oats than anything I can recollect. Shure they did look moighty like oats!" "An' don't ee kalkerlate they'd a looked more like oats, ef they'd been pointed at both ends instead o' one!" "In troth, would they all that same." "We-ell, thet's the very idee thet kem inter my mind at the time." "Arrah now, is it? An' fwhat did yez do wid the pegs then?"
'Twas all in the way av fair fight, though, for niver did I raise my hand excipt whin they had provoked me to ut. "'Tis all well," sez wan av thim, "but who's to do this shootin'?" "Fwhat matther?" sez Vulmea. "'Tis Mulvaney will do that at the Coort-Martial." "He will so," sez the man, "but whose hand is put to the trigger in the room?"
"Tis demoralisin' my men. "'Ye damned little fool, sez Cruik, laughin'. 'He's larnin' you your business. Have ye been rushed at night yet? "'No, sez the child, wishful that he had been. "'Have you any wounded? sez Cruik. "'No, he sez. 'There was no chanst for that. They follow Mulvaney too quick, he sez. "'Fwhat more do you want, thin? sez Cruik.
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