"Keep 'em amused and interested," said Revere. "They went on the drink, poor
fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh, it's good
to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a--never mind."
Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary mess dinner, and
contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over the condition of his
beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as to insinuate that the
presence of the officers could do no earthly good, and that the best thing
would be to send the entire Regiment into hospital and "let the doctors look
after them." Porkiss was demoralized with fear, nor was his peace of mind
restored when Revere said coldly: "Oh! The sooner you go out the better, if
that's your way of thinking. Any public school could send us fifty good men in
your place, but it takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount
of trouble, to make a Regiment. 'S'pose you're the person we go into camp for,
eh?"
Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which a drenching
in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted this world for another
where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for the weaknesses of the
flesh. The Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily across the Sergeants' Mess
tent when the news was announced.
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