"A dirty soldier, and 'e's under full stoppages for new kit.
It's covered with scales, sir."
"Scales? What scales?"
"Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an' a-cleanin'
them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs." Revere was still absorbed in the Company
papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby, continued,--"'E
generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, sir,
an' they do say that the more lush in-he-briated 'e is, the more fish 'e
catches. They call 'im the Looney Fish-monger in the Comp'ny, sir."
Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated.
"It's a filthy amusement," sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to Revere: "Are
you really worried about Dormer?"
"A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to a hospital, or drunk
enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, brooding and sulking as
he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and the only time I took
him out shooting he all but shot me by accident."
"I fish," said Bobby, with a wry face. "I hire a country-boat and go down the
river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with me--if you can
spare us both."
"You blazing young fool!" said Revere, but his heart was full of much more
pleasant words.
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