no sports.

'And the Flour used to say, afterwards, "Ah, but it was a grand time we
had at the funeral when Duncan died at Duffers."

. . . . .

'The Flour of Wheat carried his mate, Dinny Murphy, all the way in from
Th' Canary to the hospital on his back. Dinny was very bad--the man was
dying of the dysentery or something. The Flour laid him down on a spare
bunk in the reception-room, and hailed the staff.

'"Inside there--come out!"

'The doctor and some of the hospital people came to see what was the
matter. The doctor was a heavy swell, with a big cigar, held up in front
of him between two fat, soft, yellow-white fingers, and a dandy little
pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses nipped onto his nose with a spring.

'"There's me lovely mate lying there dying of the dysentry," says the
Flour, "and you've got to fix him up and bring him round."

'Then he shook his fist in the doctor's face and said--

'"If you let that lovely man die--look out!"

'The doctor was startled. He backed off at first; then he took a puff at
his cigar, stepped forward, had a careless look at Dinny, and gave some
order to the attendants. The Flour went to the door, turned half round
as he went out, and shook his fist at them again, and said--

'"If you let that lovely man die--mind!"

'In about twenty minutes he came back, wheeling a case of whisky in a
barrow. He carried the case inside, and dumped it down on the floor.

'"There," he said, "pour that into the lovely man."

'Then he shook his fist at such members of the staff as were visible,
and said--

'"If you let that lovely man die--look out!"

'They were used to hard-cases, and didn't take much notice of him, but
he had the hospital in an awful mess; he was there all hours of the day
and night; he would go down town, have a few drinks and a fight maybe,
and then he'd say, "Ah, well, I'll have to go up and see how me lovely
mate's getting on."

'And every time he'd go up he'd shake his fist at the hospital in
general and threaten to murder 'em all if they let Dinny Murphy die.

'Well, Dinny Murphy died one night. The next morning the Flour met the
doctor in the street, and hauled off and hit him between the eyes, and
knocked him down before he had time to see who it was.

'"Stay there, ye little whipper-snapper," said the Flour of Wheat; "you
let that lovely man die!"

'The police happened to be out of town that day, and while they were
waiting for them the Fl