“Arrah, Mickey, now can’t you be _asy?_” sang out a voice in chorus, and the next moment Dr. Quill himself made his appearance. “Well, O’Malley, is it a penitential psalm you’re singing, or is my friend Mike endeavoring to raise your spirits with a Galway sonata?” “A little bit of his own muse, Doctor, nothing more; but tell me, how goes it with the major,--is the poor fellow out of danger?” “Except from the excess of his appetite, I know of no risk he runs. His servant is making gruel for him all day in a thing like the grog-tub of a frigate. But you’ve heard the news,--Sparks has been exchanged. He came here last night; but the moment he caught sight of me, he took his departure. Begad, I’m sure he’d rather pass a month in Verdun than a week in my company!” “By-the-bye, Doctor, you never told me how this same antipathy of Sparks for you had its origin.” “Sure I drove him out of the Tenth before he was three weeks with the regiment.” “Ay, I remember; you began the story for me one night on the retreat from the Coa, but something broke it off in the middle.” “Just so, I was sent for to the rear to take off some gentleman’s legs that weren’t in dancing condition; but as there’s no fear of interruption now, I’ll finish the story. But first, let us have a peep at the wounded. What beautiful anatomists they are in the French artillery! Do you feel the thing I have now in my forceps? There,--don’t jump,--that’s a bit of the brachial nerve most beautifully displayed. Faith, I think I’ll give Mike a demonstration.” “Oh, Mister Quill, dear! Oh, Doctor, darling!” “Arrah, Mickey, now can’t ye be asy?” sang out Maurice, with a perfect imitation of Mike’s voice and manner.