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Updated: May 29, 2025
'You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid, said he, 'an' I shan't sing no more to this 'ere bloomin' drawin'-room. Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled himself, crept behind Ortheris, and slung him aloft on his shoulders. 'Sing, ye bloomin' hummin' bird! said he, and Ortheris, beating time on Learoyd's skull, delivered himself, in the raucous voice of the Ratcliffe Highway, of this song:
Is it a bigger one nor usual? ''Twas the livin' trut'! answered Mulvaney, stretching out a huge arm and catching Ortheris by the collar. 'Now where are ye, me son? Will ye take the wurrud av the Lorrd out av my mouth another time? He shook him to emphasise the question.
You remimber fwhat I tould you in the gyard-gate av the fight at Silver's Theatre." "Wot's that about Silver's Theayter!" said Ortheris quickly, over his shoulder. "Nothin', little man. A tale that ye know.
Lord be good to me, for I have stud some throuble! 'Lie down and go to sleep, said I, not being able to comfort or advise. 'You're the best man in the regiment, and, next to Ortheris, the biggest fool. Lie down and wait till we're attacked. What force will they turn out? Guns, think you? 'Try that wid your lorrds an' ladies, twistin' an' turnin' the talk, tho' you mint ut well.
Almost before Ortheris had deftly thrown all the rifles of the Guard on Mulvaney's bedstead, the Irishman's voice was uplifted as that of one in the middle of a story, and, turning to me, he said 'In barricks or out of it, as you say, Sorr, an Oirish rig'mint is the divil an' more. 'Tis only fit for a young man wid eddicated fisteses.
The Yorkshireman lifted up his voice and gave in thunder the chorus of The Sentry-Box, while Ortheris piped at his side. ''Bin to a bloomin' sing-song, you two? said the Artilleryman, who was taking his cartridge down to the Morning Gun. 'You're over merry for these dashed days. 'I bid ye take care o' the brat, said he, For it comes of a noble race, Learoyd bellowed.
'Wot's the use o' worritin' 'bout these things? said Ortheris. 'You're bound to find all out quicker nor you want to, any'ow. He jerked the cartridge out of the breech-block into the palm of his hand. ''Ere's my chaplain, he said, and made the venomous black-headed bullet bow like a marionette. ''E's goin' to teach a man all about which is which, an' wot's true, after all, before sundown.
"But what were you doing with your rifle in the outer verandah an hour after parade?" "Cleanin' 'er," said Ortheris, with the sullen brassy stare that always went with his choice lies. He might as well have said that he was dancing naked, for at no time did his rifle need hand or rag on her twenty minutes after parade. Still the High Court would not know his routine. I asked. "Yes.
Ortheris suddenly rose to his knees, his rifle at his shoulder, and peered across the valley in the clear afternoon light. His chin cuddled the stock, and there was a twitching of the muscles of the right cheek as he sighted; Private Stanley Ortheris was engaged on his business. A speck of white crawled up the watercourse. 'See that beggar? . . . Got 'im.
There was the sound of a gentle chuckle from the glacis where Learoyd lay. ''E expects to get 'is C'mission some day, explained Ortheris; Gawd 'elp the Mess that 'ave to put their 'ands into the same kiddy as 'im! Wot time d'you make it, Sir? Fower! Mulvaney'll be out in 'arf an hour. You don't want to buy a dorg, Sir, do you? A pup you can trust 'arf Rampore by the Colonel's grey-'ound.
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