"'Beggin' yer pardon, sors,' says Oi, 'but Oi happin to know who that man was. It was Lord Rothchoild, the great international banker.' It may have bin the Imperor of Choina, fer all Oi know. But they swallied that, too, an' ignorin' me, one says, 'An' he shook hands wid us!' an' on their faces was a bland smoile of choild-loike satisfaction. "Oh, ye Canadians are great snobs, so ye are. Whoy Oi've heard yersilf laud to the skoies the noble part taken in the war be the blue-bloods of England. Sure ye're just as big a snob as any of the others. Er--Oi--Oi beg per pardon, sor, Oi'm sorry fer sayin' it." "How about _thinking_ it?" "The on'y thing Oi kin call me own since Oi jined the army are me thoughts. But Oi wouldn't think it aginst yer wishes fer the world, sor," and he smiled slyly. "Oi agree that the blue-bloods have fought well, but no better than the rist of us. An' they have somethin' to foight fer, whoile Oi'd like to ask ye what has a poor divil loike me to foight fer? Who'd support moy childer if Oi was kilt?" "Your children! I didn't know you were married." "Who said Oi was married?" "Oh!" "All classes out here foight well. Oi agree wid that writer who said that all min are aloike except fer their close. Now, except fer our close, Oi don't suppose anyone would be able to tell which was the cap'n, an' which his servant"; with another sly grin. "Probably not, except for the whiskey you drink." "Oi may drink a slightly greater amount than ye, sor, but Oi notice we drink the same brand." "Yes, I've noticed that, too, Kelly. That's why there's never any to offer any of my friends when they call." "Oi assure ye, docthor, there's none of it wasted." "Probably not, from your standpoint. Now, Kelly, I'd like some tea. And see if you can put a little less candle, currants, and sand in it than you did this morning." "If ye'd lave the last half inch in the bottom of yer cup, sor, ye'd never know there was any thin' but tea in it"; and he left to prepare as good a cup of tea as one could desire, except for these extras which a paternal quartermaster always inserts into the various articles of diet. Of course, the fact that the tea and sugar come in sandbags, and the candles are put into the sugar to prevent breaking them, adds to this complication. Kelly is a good cook, and no mean philosopher. He continually emphasizes the importance of what he calls, "a sinse of humor." One night when he had taken too much of what he called at various times, "the crather," "humor producer," "potheen," or "honey dew," I heard him say to a companion: "As me frind, Lord Norfolk, says, there remain these three, faith, hope, and charity, and the greatest of these is a sinse of humor."