‘Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home on my cheek an’ down I went full-sprawl.  “Will that content you?” sez he, blowin’ on his knuckles for all the world like a Scots Greys orf’cer.  “Content!” sez I.  “For your own sake, man, take off your spurs, peel your jackut, an’ onglove.  ‘Tis the beginnin’ av the overture; stand up!”

‘He stud all he know, but he niver peeled his jackut, an’ his shoulders had no fair play.  I was fightin’ for Dinah Shadd an’ that cut on my cheek.  What hope had he forninst me?  “Stand up,” sez I, time an’ again whin he was beginnin’ to quarter the ground an’ gyard high an’ go large.  “This isn’t ridin’-school,” I sez.  “O man, stand up an’ let me get in at ye.”  But whin I saw he wud be runnin’ about, I grup his shtock in my left an’ his waist-belt in my right an’ swung him clear to my right front, head undher, he hammerin’ my nose till the wind was knocked out av him on the bare ground.  “Stand up,” sez I, “or I’ll kick your head into your chest!” and I wud ha’ done ut too, so ragin’ mad I was.

’"My collar-bone’s bruk,” sez he.  “Help me back to lines.  I’ll walk wid her no more.”  So I helped him back.’

‘And was his collar-bone broken?’ I asked, for I fancied that only Learoyd could neatly accomplish that terrible throw.

’He pitched on his left shoulder-point.  Ut was.  Next day the news was in both barricks, an’ whin I met Dinah Shadd wid a cheek on me like all the reg’mintal tailor’s samples there was no “Good mornin’, corp’ril,” or aught else.  “An’ what have I done, Miss Shadd,” sez I, very bould, plantin’ mesilf forninst her, “that ye should not pass the time of day?”

’"Ye’ve half-killed rough-rider Dempsey,” sez she, her dear blue eyes fillin’ up.

’"May be,” sez I.  “Was he a friend av yours that saw ye home four times in the fortnight?”

‘"Yes,” sez she, but her mouth was down at the corners.  “An’—­an’ what’s that to you?” she sez.

‘"Ask Dempsey,” sez I, purtendin’ to go away.

‘"Did you fight for me then, ye silly man?” she sez, tho’ she knew ut all along.

‘"Who else?” sez I, an’ I tuk wan pace to the front.

‘"I wasn’t worth ut,” sez she, fingerin’ in her apron,

’"That’s for me to say,” sez I.  “Shall I say ut?”

‘"Yes,” sez she in a saint’s whisper, an’ at that I explained mesilf; and she tould me what ivry man that is a man, an’ many that is a woman, hears wanst in his life.

‘"But what made ye cry at startin’, Dinah, darlin’?’” sez I.

‘"Your—­your bloody cheek,” sez she, duckin’ her little head down on my sash (I was on duty for the day) an’ whimperin’ like a sorrowful angil.