I scarcely know whether The Fighting Sheeney made more of a nuisance of
himself during his decumbiture or during the period which followed
it--which period houses an astonishing number of fights, rows, bullyings,
etc. He must have had a light case for he was cured in no time, and on
everyone's back as usual. Well, I will leave him for the nonce; in fact,
I will leave him until I come to The Young Pole, who wore black puttees
and spoke of The Zulu as "_mon ami_"--the Young Pole whose troubles I
will recount in connection with the second Delectable Mountain Itself. I
will leave the Sheeney with the observation that he was almost as vain as
he was vicious; for with what ostentation, one day when we were in the
kitchen, did he show me a post-card received that afternoon from Paris,
whereon I read "Comme vous etes beau" and promises to send more money as
fast as she earned it and, hoping that he had enjoyed her last present,
the signature (in a big, adoring hand)
"_Ta mome. Alice._"
and when I had read it--sticking his map up into my face, The Fighting
Sheeney said with emphasis:
"_No travailler moi. Femme travaille, fait la noce, tout le temps.
Toujours avec officiers anglais. Gagne beaucoup, cent franc, deux cent
franc, trois cent franc, toutes les nuits.
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