they were following a muffled drum beating the requiem of a deceased comrade.
Having arrived at the place of sepulture, the first business is to dig a grave close to each body, so that it may be easily rolled in. But if there has been no fun before, it commences when the rolling in begins.
Tile Hardened Exception, who
has occupied much of his time while digging in sketching distasteful pictures for the Profane Man
to swear at, now makes a change of base, and calls upon the Paper-Collar Young Man
to “take hold and help roll in,” which the young man reluctantly and gingerly does; but when the noxious gases begin to make their presence manifest, and the Hardened Wretch
hands him an axe to break the legs that would otherwise protrude from the grave, it is the last straw to an already overburdened sentimental soul; his emotions overpower him, and, turning his back on the deceased, he utters something which sounds like “hurrah!
without the h,” as Mark Twain
puts it, repeating it with increasing emphasis.
But he is not to express his enthusiasm on this question alone a great while.
There are more sympathizers in the