darky, I may as well say in the beginning that I
heard it in the ark."

"Oh, it's new, old man. He made the mistake of trying to get some fun out
of Pinetop, and he got more than he bargained for, that's all. He began to
tease him about those blue jean trousers he carries in his knapsack. You've
seen them, I reckon?"

Dan nodded as he chewed idly at a blade of grass. "I tried to get him to
throw them away yesterday," he said, "and he did go so far as to haul them
out and look them over; but after meditating a half hour, he packed them
away again and declared there was 'a sight of wear left in them still.' He
told me if he ever made up his mind to get rid of them, and peace should
come next day, he'd never forgive himself."

"Well, I warned Bland not to meddle with him," pursued Jack, "but he got
bored and set in to make things lively. 'Look here, Pinetop,' he began,
'will you do me the favour to give me the name of the tailor who made your
blue jeans?' and, bless your life, Pinetop just took the mullein leaf from
his eyes, and sang out 'Maw.' That was what Bland wanted, of course, so,
without waiting for the danger signal, he plunged in again. 'Then if you
don't object I should be glad to have the pattern of them,' he went on, as
smooth as butter. 'I want them to wear when I go home again, you know. Why,
they're just the things to take a lady's eye--they have almost the fit of a
flour-sack--and the ladies are fond of flour, aren't they?' The whole crowd
was waiting, ready to howl at Pinetop's answer, and, sure enough, he raised
himself on his elbow, and drawled out in his sing-song tone: 'I say, Sonny,
ain't yo' Maw done put you into breeches yit?'"

"It serves him right," said Dan sternly, "and that's what I like about
Pinetop, Jack, there's no ruffling him." He brushed off the bee that had
fallen on his head, and dodged as it angrily flew back again.

"Some of the boys raised a row when he came into our mess," returned Jack,
"but where every man's fighting for his country, we're all equal, say I.
What makes me dog-tired, though, is the airs some of these fool officers
put on; all this talk about an 'officer's mess' now, as if a man is too
good to eat with me who wouldn't dare to sit down to my table if he had on
civilian's clothes. It's all bosh, that's what it is."

He got up and strolled off with his grievance, and Dan, stretching himself
upon the ground, looked across the hills, to the far mountains where the