"No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato," said the Sergeant, who
delighted in long words. "A dirty soldier, and 'e's under full
stoppages for new kit. It's covered with scales, sir."
"Scales? What scales?"
"Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an'
a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs." Revere was still
absorbed in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly
fond of Bobby, continued, -" 'E generally goes down there when
'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say
that the more lush - inebriated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches.
They call 'im the Looney Fishmonger in the Comp'ny, sir."
Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated.
"It's a filthy amusement," sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to
Revere: "Are you really worried about Dormer?"
"A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to hospital, or
drunk enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up,
brooding and sulking as he does. He resents any interest being
shown in him, and the only time I took him out shooting he all but
shot me by accident."
"I fish," said Bobby, with a wry face. "I hire a country-boat and
go down river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes
with me - if you can spare us both.
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