better ha' taken his beer," returned Dan reflectively.

"Better still ha' handed him up to the Colonel," said Horse Egan,
"onless - but sure the news wud be all over the counthry an' give
the reg'ment a bad name."

"An' there'd be no reward for that man - he but went about
talkin'," said the Kerry man artlessly.

"You speak by your breed," said Dan, with a laugh. "There was
never a Kerry man yet that wudn't sell his brother for a pipe o'
tobacco an' a pat on the back from a p'liceman."

"Praise God I'm not a bloomin' Orangeman," was the answer.

"No, nor never will be," said Dan. "They breed men in Ulster.
Would you like to thry the taste of one?"

The Kerry man looked and longed, but forbore. The odds of battle
were too great.
"Then you'll not even give Mulcahy a - a strike for his money,"
said the voice of Horse Egan, who regarded what he called
"trouble" of any kind as the pinnacle of felicity.

Dan answered not at all, but crept on tip-toe, with long strides,
to the mess-room, the men following. The room was empty. In a
corner, cased like the King of Dahomey's state umbrella, stood the
regimental Colours. Dan lifted them tenderly and unrolled in the
light of the candles the record of the Mavericks - tattered, worn,
and hacked. The white satin was darkened everywhere with big brown