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Corporal Prag yet further improved the occasion, earning Dam's heartfelt blessing. "Don't you fergit it, Trooper Maffewson. I'm yore sooperier orficer. 'Ung indeed! You look after yer own farver an' don' pass remarks on yer betters. Why! You boozin' waster, I shall be Regimental Sargen' Majer when you're a bloomin' discharged private wiv an 'undred 'drunks' in red on yer Defaulter's Sheet.
"Other people's farvers wasn't gallows-birds if yourn was. 'Ow'd you look if I come and punched you on the nose, eh? Wot 'ud you do if I come an' set abaht yer, eh?" "Break your neck," replied Dam tersely. "Ho, yus. And wot 'ud yew say when I calls the guard and they frows you into clink? Without no light, Trooper Maffewson!" Dam shuddered.
"'Ere, Maffewson, you bone-idle, moonin' waster," bawled the raucous voice of Lance-Corporal Prag, and Dam's soaring spirit fell to earth.
He screamed, and struck wildly at the cold cruel marble, and found it was soft, yielding netting after all. But it was a worse horror to find that he had thought it marble than if he had found it to be marble. He sprang from his cot. "I am going mad," he cried. "Goin'?... Gorn, more like," observed the disrobing room-corporal. "Why donchew keep orf the booze, Maffewson? You silly gapin' goat.
'Ere, 'Awker, run down an' call up the Sergeant o' the Guard an' tell 'im Maffewson's left 'is post. 'E'll 'ave to plant annuvver sentry. Maffewson goes ter clink." "Yes but send for the Surgeon and the key of the mortuary too," begged Dam. "I give you fair warning that Priddell is alive and groaning and off the bier " "Pity you ain't 'off the beer' too," said the Corporal with a yawn.
Well, you're bloomin' well wrong, Maffewson, me lad. My farver 'ad a bout every Saturday arternoon and kep' it up all day a Sund'y, 'e did an' in the werry las' bout 'e ever 'ad 'e bashed 'is ole woman's 'ead in wiv' a bottle." "And was hanged?" inquired Dam politely and innocently, but most tactlessly. "Mind yer own b business," roared Corporal Prag.
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