altogether improbable event. We were always having larks with Malachi, for we looked upon him as our legitimate butt. He seldom complained, and when he did his remonstrance hardly ever went beyond repeating the words, 'Now, none of your pranktical jokes!' If this had not the desired effect, and we put up some too outrageous trick on him he would content himself by muttering with sorrowful conviction, 'Well, there's no mistake it's a caution.'
We were not content with common jokes, such as sewing up the legs of Malachi's trousers while he slept, 'fixing' his bunk, or putting explosives in his pipe―we aspired to some of the higher branches of the practical joker's art. It was well known that Malachi had an undying hatred for words of four syllables and over, and the use of them was always sufficient to forfeit any good opinions he might have previously entertained concerning the user. 'I hate them high-flown words,' he would say―'I got a book at home that I could get them all out of if I wanted them; but I don't. The book referred to was a very dilapidated dictionary. Malachi's hatred for high-flown words was only equalled by his aversion to the opposite sex; and, this being known, we used to write letters to him in a feminine hand, threatening divers breach of promise actions, and composed in the high-flown language above alluded to. We used to think this very funny, and by these means we made his life a burden to him. Malachi put the most implicit faith in everything we told him; he would take in the most improbable yarn provided we preserved a grave demeanour and used no high-flown
