"Have you got a good cigar left, O'Grady?"

"Oh, you have taken to smoking, have you?"

"I was obliged to, to keep my nose warm. On the march, Fane and the major
and Errington all smoked, and they looked so comfortable and contented
that I felt it was my duty to keep them company."

"I have just two left, Terence, so we will smoke them together, and I have
got a bottle of dacent spirits. Think of that, me boy; thirty-two days
without spirits! They will never believe me when I go home and tell 'em I
went without it for thirty-two mortal days."

"Well, you have had wine, O'Grady."

"It's poor stuff by the side of the cratur, still I am not saying that it
wasn't a help. But it was cold comfort, Terence, a mighty cold comfort."

"You are looking well on it, anyhow. And how is the wound?"

"Och, I have nigh forgot I ever had one, save when it comes to ateing. Tim
has to cut my food up for me, and I never sit down to a male without
wishing bad cess to the French. When we get back I will have a patent
machine for holding a fork fixed on somehow. It goes against me grain to
have me food cut up as if I was a baby; if it wasn't for that I should not
miss my hand one way or the other. In fact, on the march it has been a
comfort that I have only had five fingers to freeze, instead of ten. There
is a compensation in all things. So we are going to fight them at last?
There is no chance of the fleet coming to take us off before that, I