Iroquois Hotel on fire, an’ requestin’ th’ O.C. for a shquad av men tu help fight ut, an’ kape th’ crowd back.  So down we wint, a bunch av us.  It sure was a bad fire all right.  No lives was lost, but th’ whole shebang was burnt tu th’ ground.  Kapin’ th’ crowd back was our hardest job.  Du fwhat we cud, we cud not make some av th’ silly fules kape back clear av th’ danger-zone—­wimmin an’ all, bedad!

“By and by, a section av the wall tumbles an’ quite a bunch av people got badly hurt—­Nobby amongst thim.  We dhragged thim out as quick as we cud an’ laid them forninst th’ wall av a buildin’ near-by—­awaithin’ some stretcher-bearers.  Nobby’d got his leg bruk, but he seemed chipper enough an’ chewed th’ rag wid us awhile.  Next tu him was a wumman—­cryin’ something pitiful—­she’d got her leg bruk, tu.  Nobby rised him up on his elbow an’ lukked at her.

“Now, ‘tis powerful dhry wurrk, bhoys, fightin’ fire, an’ may be Nobby—­well, I cannot account for ut otherwise—­him havin’ th’ nerve’ tu du’ fwhat he did—­onless p’raps ‘t’was just th’ natch’ril tindher-hearthedness av th’ man—­thryin’ for tu comfort her.  Afther that wan luk tho’, Nobby he ‘comes tu th’ halt,’ so tu shpake, an’ ’marks time’ awhile considherin’—­for becod, she was a harrd-lukkin ould case—­long beyant mark av mouth.

“Presintly, sez he:  ’I’m a man av few wurrds!—­’tis of then I have kissed a young wumman!’—­an’ he thwirls th’ big buck moustache av um very slow—­’fwhy shud I not kiss an ould wan? . . .’—­an’ he did. . . .

“That’s how th’ man’s throuble shtarted.  Brought ut all on umsilf.  Course at th’ toime, fwhy! she slapped th’ face av um an’ called um all manner av harrd names—­but, all th’ same! she must have liked ut, for while they was convalescin’ she was everlashtingly sendhin Nobby notes an’ flowers an’ such like.  But for all that Nobby wud have no thruck wid her, for all she was a widder, well fixed—­wid a house av her own an’ lashuns av money.  Whin they was both out av hospital she was afther urn again, an’ du fwhat he cud he cud not shake that wumman.

“Th’ ind av ut was, Nobby reports sick, an’ th’ reg’minthal docthor, ould ‘Knockemorf’ Probyn, gives um th’ wance over.  He luks over some papers an’ sez he:  ‘A change an’ a rist is fwhat yu’ need, Sarjint Guy.  There’s a dhraft leavin’ next week for Herschell Island[2]—­I think I will mark yu up fur ut.’

“‘Herschell Island?’ sez pore Nobby, an’ wid that he let’s out a howl.

“‘Tut, tut!’ sez ould Knockemorf, who was wise tu th’ man’s throuble.  ‘Tis safer off there’ll yu’ll be, man, than here, I’m thinkin’.’

“He was shtandin’ by th’ Gyard-room gate that day-week whin th’ dhraft marched out on their way tu enthrain—­Nobby amongst thim.  ’Good-bye, Docthor!’ he calls out, tears in th’ eyes av um, ’’Tis sendhin me tu me grave y’are, God forgive yez!’

“‘Nonsince!’ shouts Knockemorf.  ‘Say yeh prayers an’ kape yeh bowils opin, me man, an’ ye will take no harrm!’