Bubb fixed his eyes on the patronne and started: "Madame, 'ave yer any good wine? Skiboo! Skiboo! Madame, 'ave yer any good wine? Skiboo! Madame, 'ave yer any good wine Fit for a rifleman o' the line? Skiboo! Skiboo! Skiboolety bill skiboo! "Madame, 'ave yer a daughter fair? Skiboo! Skiboo! Madame, 'ave yer a daughter fair? Skiboo! Madame, 'ave yer a daughter fair? And I will take her under my care, Skiboo! Skiboo! Skiboolety bill skiboo! "Madame, I've got money to spend, Cinq sous! Cinq sous! Madame, I've got money to spend, Cinq sous! Madame, I've got money to spend, Seldom the case with your daughter's friend, Cinq sous! Cinq sous, cinq slummicky slop! Cinq sous!" The song, an old one probably, but adapted to suit modern circumstances, was lustily chorused by the soldiers in the room. Bubb having finished sat down, but presently rose to his feet again. "'Oo'l whistle the chorus of 'It's a long way to Tipperary'?" he asked. "Everybody do it together and the one that does it froo I'll stand 'im a drink. Nobody to laugh. And the one that's not able to do it will stand me a drink. Is that a bargain? Nobody to laugh, mind." The men agreed to Bubb's terms and started whistling. But they did not get far. They had drunk quite a lot and Bubb's final injunction tickled them. One smiled, then another. Bowdy Benners lay back and roared with laughter. He tried to form his lips round a note but the effort was futile. It was impossible to laugh and whistle at the same time. Fitzgerald was making a sound that reminded the listeners of an angry cat spitting. His cheeks were puffed out and his nose was sinking out of sight. The landlord rolled from side to side choking almost, even the patronne was smiling. The little ragged girl came across the floor and stood in front of Fitz, her hands behind her back. For a moment she stood thus, then she ran away giggling and hid behind the counter. Fitzgerald got to his feet. "Bubb, Spudhole or whatever the devil they call you, you've won," he said. "What a queer creature that child is, boys," he muttered, looking at the youngster which was peeping slyly out from behind the counter. "Is it a boy or a girl?" Bubb approached the counter and drank the glass of vin rouge which Benners had paid for; then he thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and began to sing "Sam Hall." "My name is Samuel Hall, Tiddy fol lol, tiddy fol lol!" "Bowdlerise it, you fool," Fitzgerald exclaimed sitting down again. "Bowdlerise the song or stop singing. Bad taste, Bubb, bad taste. Drink doesn't improve your morals." Bubb ceased singing, not on Fitzgerald's behest, but because the sergeant was standing him a drink. Old Jean Lacroix who was slowly recovering from his fit of laughter turned to Fitzgerald.