"Jimmieboy," said the major, his voice husky with emotion, "any other person than yourself would have had to fight a duel with me for casting such a doubt as you have just cast upon my courage. The idea of me, of I, of myself, Major Mortimer Carraway Blueface, the hero of a hundred and eighty-seven real sham fights, the most poetic as well as the handsomest man in the 'Jimmieboy Guards' being accused of running away! Oh! It is simply dreadful! "I've been accused of dreadful things, Of wearing copper finger-rings, Of eating green peas with a spoon, Of wishing that I owned the moon, Of telling things that weren't the truth, Of having cut no wisdom tooth, In times of war of stealing buns, And fainting at the sound of guns, Yet never dreamed I'd see the day When it was thought I'd run away. Alack--O--well-a-day--alas! That this should ever come to pass! Alas--O--well-a-day--alack! It knocks me flat upon my back. Alas--alack--O--well-a-day! It fills me full of sore dismay. Aday--alas--O--lack-a-well--" "Are you going to keep that up forever?" asked Jimmieboy. "If you are I'm going to get out. I've heard stupid poetry in this campaign, but that's the worst yet." "I only wanted to show you what I could do in the way of a lamentation," said the major. "If you've had enough I'll stop of course; but tell me," he added, sitting down upon a cake of ice, and crossing his legs, "how on earth did you ever get hold of the ridiculous notion that I ran away frightened?" "How?" ejaculated Jimmieboy. "What else was there to think? The minute the sprite was changed into Bludgeonhead I turned to speak to you, and all I could see of you was your coat-tails disappearing around the corner way down the road." "And just because my coat-tails behaved like that you put me down as a coward?" groaned the major. "Didn't you run away?" Jimmieboy asked. "Of course not," replied the major. "That is, not exactly. I hurried off; but not because I was afraid. I was simply going down the road to see if I couldn't find a looking-glass so that Spriteyboy could see how he looked as a giant." Jimmieboy laughed. "That's a magnificent excuse," he said. "I thought you'd think it was," said the major, with a pleased smile. "And when I finally found that there weren't any mirrors to be had along the road I went back, and you two had gone and left me." "And what did you do then?" asked Jimmieboy. "I wrote a poem on sleep. It's a great thing, sleep is, and I wrote the lines off in two tenths of a fifth of a second. As I remember it, this is the way they went: "SLEEP. Deserted by my friends I sit, And silently I weep, Until I'm wearied so by it, I lose my little store of wit; I nod and fall asleep.