Ortheris had considered the question in all its bearings.  He spoke, chewing his pipe-stem meditatively the while: 

’Go forth, return in glory,
 To Clusium’s royal ’ome: 
 An’ round these bloomin’ temples ’ang
 The bloomin’ shields o’ Rome.

You better go.  You ain’t like to shoot yourself—­not while there’s a chanst of liquor.  Me an’ Learoyd’ll stay at ‘ome an’ keep shop—­’case o’ anythin’ turnin’ up.  But you go out with a gas-pipe gun an’ ketch the little peacockses or somethin’.  You kin get one day’s leave easy as winkin’.  Go along an’ get it, an’ get peacockses or somethin’.’

‘Jock,’ said Mulvaney, turning to Learoyd, who was half asleep under the shadow of the bank.  He roused slowly.

‘Sitha, Mulvaaney, go,’ said he.

And Mulvaney went; cursing his allies with Irish fluency and barrack-room point.

‘Take note,’ said he, when he had won his holiday, and appeared dressed in his roughest clothes with the only other regimental fowling-piece in his hand.  ‘Take note, Jock, an’ you Orth’ris, I am goin’ in the face av my own will—­all for to please you.  I misdoubt anythin’ will come av permiscuous huntin’ afther peacockses in a desolit lan’; an’ I know that I will lie down an’ die wid thirrrst.  Me catch peacockses for you, ye lazy scutts—­an’ be sacrificed by the peasanthry—­Ugh!’

He waved a huge paw and went away.

At twilight, long before the appointed hour, he returned empty-handed, much begrimed with dirt.

‘Peacockses?’ queried Ortheris from the safe rest of a barrack-room table whereon he was smoking cross-legged, Learoyd fast asleep on a bench.

‘Jock,’ said Mulvaney without answering, as he stirred up the sleeper.  ‘Jock, can ye fight?  Will ye fight?’

Very slowly the meaning of the words communicated itself to the half-roused man.  He understood—­and again—­what might these things mean?  Mulvaney was shaking him savagely.  Meantime the men in the room howled with delight.  There was war in the confederacy at last—­war and the breaking of bonds.

Barrack-room etiquette is stringent.  On the direct challenge must follow the direct reply.  This is more binding than the ties of tried friendship.  Once again Mulvaney repeated the question.  Learoyd answered by the only means in his power, and so swiftly that the Irishman had barely time to avoid the blow.  The laughter around increased.  Learoyd looked bewilderedly at his friend—­himself as greatly bewildered.  Ortheris dropped from the table because his world was falling.

‘Come outside,’ said Mulvaney, and as the occupants of the barrack-room prepared joyously to follow, he turned and said furiously, ’There will be no fight this night—­onless any wan av you is wishful to assist.  The man that does, follows on.’

No man moved.  The three passed out into the moonlight, Learoyd fumbling with the buttons of his coat.  The parade-ground was deserted except for the scurrying jackals.  Mulvaney’s impetuous rush carried his companions far into the open ere Learoyd attempted to turn round and continue the discussion.