"Wot's the odds so long as you're 'appy?" said Ortheris, applying himself afresh to the bamboo. "As well 'ere as anywhere else." Learoyd held up a rupee and an eight-anna bit, and shook his head sorrowfully. "Five mile from t'Canteen, all along o' Mulvaney's blasted pride." "I know ut," said Mulvaney, penitently. "Why will ye come wid me? An' yet I wud be mortial sorry if ye did not--any time--though I am ould enough to know betther. But I will do penance. I will take a dhrink av wather." Ortheris squeaked shrilly. The butler of the Forest bungalow was standing near the railings with a basket, uncertain how to clamber down to the pontoon. "Might 'a' know'd you'd 'a' got liquor out o' bloomin' desert, sir," said Ortheris, gracefully, to me. Then to the mess-man: "Easy with them there bottles. They're worth their weight in gold. Jock, ye long-armed beggar, get out o' that an' hike 'em down." Learoyd had the basket on the pontoon in an instant, and the Three Musketeers gathered round it with dry lips. They drank my health in due and ancient form, and thereafter tobacco tasted sweeter than ever. They absorbed all the beer, and disposed themselves in picturesque attitudes to admire the setting sun--no man speaking for a while. Mulvaney's head dropped upon his chest, and we thought that he was asleep. "What on earth did you come so far for?" I whispered to Ortheris. "To walk 'im orf, o' course. When 'e's been checked we allus walks 'im orf, 'E ain't fit to be spoke to those times--nor 'e ain't fit to leave alone neither. So we takes 'im till 'e is." Mulvaney raised his head, and stared straight into the sunset. "I had my rifle," said he, dreamily, "an' I had my bay'nit, an' Mullins came round the corner, an' he looked in my face an' grinned dishpiteful. '_You_ can't blow your own nose,' sez he. Now, I cannot tell fwhat Mullins's expayrience may ha' been, but, Mother av God, he was nearer to his death that minut' than I have iver been to mine--and that's less than the thicknuss av a hair!" "Yes," said Ortheris, calmly, "you'd look fine with all your buttons took orf, an' the Band in front o' you, walkin' roun' slow time. We're both front-rank men, me an' Jock, when the rig'ment's in 'ollow square, Bloomin' fine you'd look. 'The Lord giveth an' the Lord taketh awai,--Heasy with that there drop!--Blessed be the naime o' the Lord,'" he gulped in a quaint and suggestive fashion. "Mullins! Wot's Mullins?" said Learoyd, slowly. "Ah'd take a coomp'ny o' Mullinses--ma hand behind me. Sitha, Mulvaney, don't be a fool." "_You_ were not checked for fwhat you did not do, an' made a mock av afther. 'Twas for less than that the Tyrone wud ha' sent O'Hara to hell, instid av lettin' him go by his own choosin', whin Rafferty shot him," retorted Mulvaney. "And who stopped the Tyrone from doing it?" I asked.