red-faced young Englishman, was in the rear
car, with their tools, equipments, bedding and cooking utensils.

The English foreman was a recent arrival in the country. This was his
first employment here. Naturally surly and domineering, these qualities
were enhanced by potations at Nashville and since leaving.

Si and Shorty strolled up to the young Irishmen, who were standing on
the ground near their car. They were very plainly recent arrivals, for
they still wore the characteristic clothes of the Emerald Isle, and
after a little conversation with them Shorty produced his bottle and
offered them a drink. The foreman had watched them suspiciously, and he
came swaggering up, saying insolently:

"'Ere, you bloomin' sojer, Hi want you to keep haway from my men, hand
not be a-givin' them drink. You stay by yourselves, hand Hi won't 'ave
'em hinterfered wi' by nobuddy."

"Your men," sneered Shorty. "You talk as if they was niggers, and not
white men. Who made 'em yours?"

"Stow yer wid, ye bloody blue-jack," returned the foreman
contemptuously, "hand pull ha way from here. Hi never could bear sojers
blokes, too lazy to work hand too cowardly to steal. Hike out o' here,
and shut you 'ead, hif you know w'at's well for you."

"Shut up your own head, you British blowhard," retorted Shorty, "and
mind your own business. Wait until you are a little longer in the
country be fore you try to run it. And I don't want no more o' your
slack. If you don't keep a civil tongue in your head I'll make you."

The Englishman was just in the mood to be savagely tickled at the
prospect of a fight. He had not had a good, square one since he had
been in the country, and nothing yet had offered so gratifying as
the prospect of polishing off one of the despised "Hamerican sojers."
Several of the hated officers had strolled up, attracted by the high
words, and it would be an additional pleasure to thrash one of their men
before their eyes, in revenge for the slights he felt they had put upon
him.

"You won't fight," he said disdainfully, "except with a gun or a knife,
like a bloody Dago. Ye dassent put up yer 'ands like a man."

For response, Shorty handed his cap, his gun, his bottle, his
blanket-roll, his belt and haversack to Si, rolled up his sleeves,
spit on his hands, doubled his fists, and stepped forward into a boxing
attitude.

"Balance up to me, you beer-bloated Britisher," he exclaimed, "and git
naturalized by a real Star-Spangle