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The Divil's Mass is ten times worse, an' Peg Barney was singin' ut, whackin' the tent-peg on the head wid his boot for each man that he cursed. A powerful big voice had Peg Barney, an' a hard swearer he was whin sober. I stood forninst him, an' 'twas not me oi alone that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot.
Foster hesitated and looked at his big conductor. "'Bey orders, sar!" said the negro, in a loud, stern voice of command. Then, stooping as if to open the little door, he added, in a low voice, "Don' be a fool, massa. Submit! Das de word, if you don' want a whackin'. It's a friend advises you. Dere's one oder prisoner dere, but he's wounded, an' won't hurt you. Go in! won't you?"
"'Er petticoat was yaller, an' 'er little cap was green. An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot. An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on a 'eathen idol's foot." They are all there in Rangoon yet the gorgeous coloring of the lady's raiment, her cheroots, and the heathen idols "Bloomin' idol made o' mud.
"Them bloomin' Portygees 'ave sunk my ship, an' they're whackin' in their flam now so as to score first blow. A year-old baby 'ud see that if 'is father was a lawyer." The sub-editor laughed. "Well, I'll ring you up again when the next message comes through," he said. But to Bulmer, David said savagely: "Wot's bitten Coke? 'E must 'ave gone stark, starin' mad." "Iris is alive!" murmured Bulmer.
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