"I'm not a betting man, Lieutenant, except in a friendly game of
poker," sighed Old Grumps. "You don't know anything about your
Brigadier," he added in a sepulchral murmur, the echo of an empty
canteen. "I have only been in this brigade a month, and I know more
than you do, far, very far more, sorry to say it. He's a reformed
clergyman. He's an apostatized minister." The Colonel's voice as he
said this was solemn and sad enough to do credit to an undertaker.
"It's a bad sort, Wallis," he continued, after another deep sigh, a
very highly perfumed one, the sigh of a barkeeper. "When a clergyman
falls, he falls for life and eternity, like a woman or an angel. I
never knew a backslidden shepherd to come to good. Sooner or later he
always goes to the devil, and takes down whomsoever hangs to him."

"He'll take down the Old Tenth, then," asserted Wallis. "It hangs to
him. Bet you two to one he takes it along."

"You're right, Adjutant; spoken like a soldier," swore Gildersleeve.
"And the Bloody Fourteenth, too. It will march into the burning pit as
far as any regiment; and the whole brigade, yes, sir! But a backslidden
shepherd, my God! Have we come to that? I often say to myself, in the
solemn hours of the night, as I remember my Sabbath-school days, 'Great
Scott! have we come to that?' A reformed clergyman! An apostatized
minister! Think of it, Wallis, think of it! Why, sir, his very wife ran
away from him. They had but just buried their first boy," pursued Old
Grumps, his hoarse voice sinking to a whimper. "They drove home from
the burial-place, where lay the new-made grave. Arrived at their door,
_he_ got out and extended his hand to help _her_ out. Instead of
accepting, instead of throwing herself into his arms and weeping there,
she turned to the coachman and said, 'Driver, drive me to my father's