“You’ll find it ‘otter still when the vedettes and Cossack Posts come leadin’ in the Osnum Digners. If there ain’t hoscillations on that rectangle, strike me in the night-lights!” said Corporal Bagshot, with his eye on the Bengalese. “Blyme, if the whole bloomin’ parallogram don’t shiver,” he added; “for them Osnum Digners ‘as the needle, and they’re ten to one, or I’m a bloater!” “There’s Gardner guns fer the inimy an’ Lushai dandies fer us,” broke in Connor, as he drove a stake in the ground, “wet without and dry within--an’ Gardner guns are divils on the randan. Whin they get to work it’s like a self-actin’ abbatoir.” “I ‘opes ye like it, Connor. Bloomin’ picnic for you when the Osnum Digners eat sand. What ho!” “I have no swarms of conscience there, Billy Bag; shot. For the bones uv me frinds that’s lyin’ in this haythen land, I’ll clane as fur as I can reach. An’ I’ll have the run uv me belt to-day, an--” he added, then stopped short as the order came from McNeill that the Berkshires should receive dinner by half-battalions. “An’ ‘igh time,” said Corporal Bagshot. “What with marchin’ and zeribakin’ and the sun upon me tank since four this mornin’, I’m dead for food and buried for water. I ain’t no bloomin’ salamanker to be grilled and say thank-ye, and I ain’t no bloomin’ camomile to bring up me larder and tap me tank when Coolin’s commissaryat hasn’t no orders.” “Shure ye’ll run better impty, Billy boy,” said Connor. “An’ what fer do ye need food before y’r execution?” he added, with a twist of his mouth. “Before execution, ye turkey-cock--before execution is the time to eat and drink. How shall the bloomin’ carnage gore the Libyan sands, if there ain’t no refreshment for the vitals and the diagrams?” “Come an wid ye to y’r forage-cake, thin-an’ take this to ye,” added Connor slyly, as he slipped a little nickel-plated flask into Billy Bagshot’s hand. “With a Woking crematory in y’r own throat. See you bloomin’ furder!” answered Billy Bagshot. “I’m not drinkin’ to-day,” answered Connor, with a curious look in the eye that had no cast. “I’m not drinkin’, you understand.” “Ain’t it a bit momentary?” asked Bagshot, as they sat down. “Momentary betimes,” answered Connor evasively. “Are you eatin’ at this bloomin’ swaree, then?” “I’m niver aff me forage-cake,” answered Connor, and he ate as if he had had his tooth in nothing for a month. A quarter of an hour later, the Sikhs were passing the Berkshire zeriba, and the Berkshires, filing out, joined them to cut brushwood. A dozen times the Subadar Goordit Singh almost touched shoulders with Connor, but neither spoke, and neither saw directly; for if once they saw each other’s eyes the end might come too soon, to the disgrace of two regiments.