"Matches,
shoelaces, and, by George, a cake of soap! Now, if we only had a
farmer's almanac and a flannel chest-protector, we'd be quite
complete."
Weldon laughed. Then he beckoned to a little trooper standing beside
the nearest ant-hill.
"Paddy," he said gravely; "these toys are excellent toys. If
anything should happen to me, I'll will them to you."
Paddy thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out his own nightcap and
dangled it by its khaki-colored tip.
"And look at it!" he said slowly. "The spirit is willing and full of
peace; but what would I be doing with that thing, I who never had a
hat on my head till I was ten years old, let alone a cap?"
"Wrap your feet in it, then," Carew suggested. "It's large enough
for them both. Paddy, who eats at your ant-hill?"
The little Irishman winked knowingly.
"Them as invites theirselves, first off. If it's you and Mr. Weldon,
so much the better for Paddy. The rum ration is doubled, the day;
knowing the habits of you both, I'm thinking I see my way to getting
six times gloriously drunk. There's beer by the hogshead, too. It'll
be a mighty Christmas dinner, the first in years I've eaten without
cooking.
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