thinks I to myself, "for Peg alone is employmint for two or three."
He bein', I well knew, as copped as a dhrover.

'Faith, that rest-camp was a sight! The tent-ropes was all skew-nosed,
an' the pegs looked as dhrunk as the men--fifty av thim--the scourin's,
an' rinsin's, an' Divil's lavin's av the Ould Rig'mint. I tell you,
Sorr, they were dhrunker than any men you've ever seen in your mortial
life. _How_ does a draf' get dhrunk? How does a frog get fat? They suk
ut in through their shkins.

'There was Peg Barney sittin' on the groun' in his shirt--wan shoe
off an' wan shoe on--whackin' a tent-peg over the head wid his boot,
an singin' fit to wake the dead. 'Twas no clane song that he sung,
though. 'Twas the Divil's Mass.'

'What's that?'I asked.

'Whin a bad egg is shut av the Arrmy, he sings the Divil's Mass for
a good riddance; an' that manes swearin' at ivrything from the
Commandher-in-Chief down to the Room-Corp'ril, such as you niver in
your days heard. Some men can swear so as to make green turf crack!
Have you iver heard the Curse in an Orange Lodge? 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.

'"Good mornin' Peg," I sez, whin he dhrew breath afther cursin' the
Adj'tint Gen'ral; "I've put on my best coat to see you, Peg Barney,"