But
Mulcahy talks o' shootin' our comp'ny orf'cers accidental."
"He said that, did he?" said Horse Egan.
"Somethin' like that, anyways. Can't ye fancy ould Barber Brady
wid a bullet in his lungs, coughin' like a sick monkey, an'
sayin', 'Bhoys, I do not mind your gettin' dhrunk, but you must
hould your liquor like men. The man that shot me is dhrunk. I'll
suspend investigations for six hours, while I get this bullet cut
out, and then -'"
"'An' then," continued Horse Egan, for the peppery Major's
peculiarities of speech and manner were as well known as his
tanned face; "'an' then, ye dissolute, half-baked, putty-faced
scum o' Connemara, if I find a man so much as lookin' confused,
begad, I'll coort-martial the whole company. A man that can't get
over his liquor in six hours is not fit to belong to the
Mavericks!'"
A shout of laughter bore witness to the truth of the sketch.
"It's pretty to think of," said the Kerry man slowly. "Mulcahy
would have us do all the devilmint, and get clear himself,
someways. He wudn't be takin' all this fool's throuble in
shpoilin' the reputation of the regimint -"
"Reputation of your grandmother's pig!" said Dan.
"Well, an' he had a good reputation tu; so it's all right.
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