When we three were comfortably settled under the big _sisham_ in front
of the bungalow, and the first rush of questions and answers about
Privates Ortheris and Learoyd and old times and places had died away,
Mulvaney said, reflectively--'Glory be there's no p'rade to-morrow,
an' no bun-headed Corp'ril-bhoy to give you his lip. An' yit I don't
know. 'Tis harrd to be something ye niver were an' niver meant to be,
an' all the ould days shut up along wid your papers. Eyah! I'm growin'
rusty, an' 'tis the will av God that a man mustn't serve his Quane for
time an' all.'

He helped himself to a fresh peg, and sighed furiously.

'Let your beard grow, Mulvaney,' said I, 'and then you won't be troubled
with those notions. You'll be a real civilian.'

Dinah Shadd had told me in the drawing-room of her desire to coax
Mulvaney into letting his beard grow. 'Twas so civilian-like,' said
poor Dinah, who hated her husband's hankering for his old life.

'Dinah Shadd, you're a dishgrace to an honust, clanescraped man!' said
Mulvaney, without replying to me. 'Grow a beard on your own chin,
darlint, and lave my razors alone. They're all that stand betune me
and dis-ris-pect-ability. Av I didn't shave, I wud be torminted wid
an outrajis thurrst; for there's nothin' so dhryin' to the throat as
a big billy-goat beard waggin' undher the chin. Ye wudn't have me
dhrink ALWAYS, Dinah Shadd? By the same token, you're kapin' me crool
dhry now. Let me look at that whiskey.'

The whiskey was lent and returned, but Dinah Shadd, who had been just