'Twas a new little bhoy--not wan I'd iver seen before. He was sittin'
in his tent, purtendin' not to 'ave ear av the racket.

'I saluted--but for the life av me I mint to shake hands whin I went
in. 'Twas the sword hangin' on the tentpole changed my will.

'"Can't I help, Sorr?" sez I; "'tis a strong man's job they've given
you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown." He was a bhoy wid bowils,
that child, an' a rale gintleman.

'"Sit down," sez he.

'"Not before my orf'cer," sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service was.

'"I've heard av you," sez he. "You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid."

'"Faith," thinks I, "that's Honour an' Glory"; for 'twas Lift'nint
Brazenose did that job. "I'm wid ye, Sorr," sez I, "if I'm av use.
They shud niver ha' sent you down wid the draf'. Savin' your presince,
Sorr," I sez, "'tis only Lift'nint Hackerston in the Ould Rig'mint can
manage a Home draf'."

'"I've niver had charge of men like this before," sez he, playin' wid
the pens on the table; "an' I see by the Rig'lations--"

'"Shut your oi to the Rig'lations, Sorr," I sez, "till the throoper's
into blue wather. By the Rig'lations you've got to tuck thim up for
the night, or they'll be runnin' foul av my coolies an' makin' a
shiverarium half through the country. Can you trust your non-coms,
Sorr?"