McCullough, busily burnishing a bit, shrugged deprecatingly and laughed.
Hardy, putting the last touches to his revolver-holster, made answer,
George thought, with peculiar reticence.

"Wot, Yorkey? . . . oh, 'e's a 'oly terror 'e is. . . . You arst
Crampton," he mumbled--"arst Taylor--they wos at Davidsburg wiv 'im.
Slavin's orl right but Yorkey!". . . He looked unutterable things.
"Proper broken down Old Country torff 'e is, too. 'E's right there wiv
th' goods at police work, they s'y, but 'e's sure a bad un to 'ave to
live wiv. Free weeks on'y, Crampton stuck it afore 'e applied for a
transfer--Taylor, 'e on'y stuck it free d'ys."

Redmond made a gesture of exasperation. "Ah-h! come off the perch!" he
snarled pettishly, "what sort of old 'batman's' gaff are you trying to
'get my goat' with?"

His display of irritation drew an explosive, misthievous cachinnation
from the trio.

"Old 'batman's' gaff?" echoed the Cockney grinning, "orl right, my fresh
cove--this time next week you'll be tellin' us wevver it's old 'batman's'
gaff, or not."

Outside, the blizzard still moaned and beat upon the windows, packing the
wind-driven snow in huge drifts about the big main building. Inside, the
canteen roared--

"_Then--I--say, boys! who's for a drink with me?
Rum, tum! tiddledy-um! we'll have a fair old spree!_"