Chapter C: D. Jones,

_Lt.-Col., O.C., etc., etc._"

Finally, let me tell you a disgraceful tale of my same friend,
which does not refer to his present command, and is, I hope,
untrue of him in any command.

The crowd for which he was then responsible was suddenly
threatened with inspection by the General who is charged with
the welfare of such people, and who very properly desired to
satisfy himself that they were both well disciplined and well
tended. So that success might be assured my friend had a
rehearsal parade. All inspections and manoeuvres being
completed, my friend stood the crowd at ease and thus addressed
them:--

"All ranks will take the utmost care to turn themselves
out smartly for the inspection and to make the
inspection a success. As the General passes along the
lines inspecting you, you will stand rigidly to
attention, eyes front. You will be asked if you have any
complaints to make, and each of you will have an
opportunity of making a complaint in the correct manner.

"In making his complaint the man should advance two
paces forward, salute smartly, stand to attention and
make his complaint.

"And, by Heavens, if anybody does...!"

Yours ever,

HENRY.

* * * * *

A TRACT FOR GROUSERS.

Ernest and I were seated by the river. It was very pleasant there, and it seemed a small thing to us that we were both still disabled.

"Did you ever say to yourself, when you were out there, that if ever you got out of it alive you'd never grumble at anything again?'" said Ernest.

My reply was in the affirmative.

We were silent for a while, remorse weighing heavily upon us.

"The worst case," said Ernest at length, "was when I got my commission and came home for my kit."

I composed myself to listen, piously determined not to grumble however tedious I might find his recital.

"We'd been near a place called Ypres," he began.

"I seem to have heard the name," I murmured.

"I hadn't been sleeping really well for a week--we'd been in the trenches that time--and before that I had lain somewhat uneasily upon a concrete floor."

"Yes, concrete is hard, isn't it?" I said.

"We came out at three in the morning, and arrived at our billets about seven. I knew this commission was on the _tapis_--French word meaning carpet--so I hung round not daring to turn in. At eleven o'clock I had orders to push off home to get my kit. You'll guess I didn't want asking twice. I made my way to the railhead at once in case of any hitch, and had to wait some time for a train. It was a goods train when it came, but it did quite well and deposited me outside the port of embarkation about nine o'clock at night. I walked on into the port and found the ship that was crossing next morning. I went below in search of a cabin. There was a French sailor there to whom I explained my need."

"How?" I asked, for I do not share Ernest's opinion of his mastery of the French language, but he ignored this.

"It was dark down there," he went on, "too dark for him to see that I was in a private's uniform, so I put on a bit of side and he took me for an officer."

"A French officer?"

"Very likely. Anyway he found me a beautiful cabin with a lovely couch in it all covered with plush. You would have thought I should want nothing but to be left to sleep; but no, I saw that the officer in the next cabin had a candle, and there was no candle for me. Instantly my worst instincts were aroused. I felt I was being put upon. I demanded a candle. The sailor declared there wasn't one left."

"You're sure he understood what you were asking for?"

"Yes, I know that candle is boogy, thank you. I argued with him for ten minutes and then turned in, grumbling. Queer, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said.

I sat there for a while, thinking over Ernest's story, which had, it seemed to me, something of the tract about it.

Later the midges began to attack us.

"Aren't these midges absolutely--" I began, and then stopped, remembering Ernest's tract. It only shows, as I said to Ernest, that we may learn something even from the most unlikely people.

* * * * *

"Wanted, a strong Boy, about 15 years old, for bottling, &c. The Brewery, Brixham."

_The Western Guardian._

"Waiter, bring me a bottle of the boy."

* * * * *

"... contest the right of the Spanish authorities to intern damaged submarines seeking refuse in neutral ports."--_Star._

The Spanish authorities are expected to reply that if that is what the U-boats are after there is no need for them to leave home.

* * * * *

_Second Artist._ "I THOUGHT OF ONE NEARLY AS GOOD, BUT COULDN'T AFFORD THE MODELS."]

* * * * *

HEART-TO-HEART TALKS.

_(The GERMAN CROWN PRINCE and Fritz, his Valet.)_

_The Crown Prince (in bed and yawning)._ Is that you, Fritz?

_Fritz._ Yes, your Royal Highness. What uniform shall I lay out for his Royal Highness?

_The C.P._ You can lay out the best I have--the one of the Death's Head Hussars, with all my stars and medals. I am expecting an important visit.

_Fritz (with a meaning smile)._ If I might venture so far, I would suggest to his Royal Highness that he should wear the Trench uniform, which I arranged with the bullet-holes and the mud-splashes. It creates a greater effect, especially if the visitor be a lady.

_The C.P._ Fritz, you dog, how dare you? Very well, have it your own way and let it be the Trench uniform.

_Fritz._ I am only anxious to promote his Royal Highness's interest in every possible way.

_The C.P._ I know, I know. Only we shall have old HINDENBURG growling and grunting and looking as black as a thundercloud. I cannot imagine what my revered father sees in that old wooden effigy, whose only idea of strategy is to retreat from strong positions. That, at any rate, is not the fashion in which I have learnt war. I'm thoroughly tired of hearing of all these HINDENBURG plans, which come to nothing.

_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness is, of course, right. But what I say to myself is that the ALL-HIGHEST, your Royal Highness's most gracious father, has in all this a deep-laid design to show conclusively that all these HINDENBURG plans mean nothing, so that in the end true skill and merit may have a chance, and the chief command may be placed in the only hands that are fit to exercise it. Oh, yes, I know what I'm talking about, and everyone I meet says the same.

_The C.P._ I have always felt that that must be so. No matter, a time will come. By the way, Fritz, have you packed up the _Sèvres_ dinner-service?

_Fritz._ I have already packed six from as many different French and Belgian houses, and have sent them to Berlin, according to your Royal Highness's directions. Which does your Royal Highness refer to?

_The C.P._ I mean the one with the simple pattern of pink flowers and the coat-of-arms.

_Fritz._ Yes, that I have packed like the rest and have sent off.

_The C.P._ And the silver dishes and the lace?

_Fritz._ Yes, they have all gone.

_The C.P._ Good. And the clocks?

_Fritz._ Yes, I did in every case what your Royal Highness ordered me to do.

_The C.P._ And you packed them, I hope, with the greatest care?

_Fritz._ I did; nothing, I am certain, will suffer damage.

_The C.P._ Excellent. War is, no doubt, a rough and brutal affair, but at least it cannot be said that we Prussians do not behave like gentlemen.

_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness speaks, as always, the plain truth. How different from the degenerate French and the intolerable English.

_The C.P._ Yes, Fritz; and now you can go. Stay; there was something I wanted to ask you. Dear me, I am losing my memory. Ah! I have it. How is my offensive getting on? Has any news come in from the _Chemin des Dames_?

_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness's offensive has not advanced to any great extent. The French last night recaptured all their positions and even penetrated into ours.

_The C.P._ Did they? How very annoying. Somebody bungled, of course. Well, well, I shall have to put it right when I have time. Have you finished laying out my uniform? Yes. Then you can go.

* * * * *

THE HUMILIATION OF THE PALFREY.

Where is she now, the pride of the battalion,
That ambled always at the Colonel's side,
A fair white steed, like some majestic galleon
Which takes deliberate the harbour tide,
So soft, so slow, she scarcely seems to stir?
And that, indeed, was very true of her
Who was till late, so kind her character,
The only horse the Adjutant could ride.

Ever she led the regiment on its journeys,
And held sweet converse with the Colonel's gee:
Of knights, no doubt, and old heroic tourneys,
And how she bare great ladies o'er the lea;
And on high hill-sides, when the men felt dead,
Far up the height they viewed her at the head,
A star of hope, and shook themselves, and said,
"If she can do it, dammit, so can we!"

But where is now my Adjutantial palfrey?
In front no longer but in rear to-day,
Behind the bicycles, and not at all free
To be familiar with the General's gray,
She walks in shame with all those misanthropes,
The sad pack-animals who have no hopes
But must by men be led about on ropes,
Condemned till death to carry S.A.A.,

And bombs, and beef, and officers' valises;
And I at eve have marked my wistful mare
By thronging dumps where cursing never ceases
And rations come, for oft she brings them there,
Patient, aloof; and when the shrapnel dropp'd
And the young mules complained and kicked and hopp'd,
She only stood unmoved, with one leg propp'd,
As if she heard it not or did not care;

Or heard, maybe, but hoped to get a Blighty;
For on her past she lately seemed to brood
And dreamed herself once more among the mighty,
By grooms beloved and reverently shoed;
But now she has no standing in the corps,
And Death itself would hardly be a bore,
Save that, although she carries me no more,
'Tis something still to carry up my food.

A.P.H.

* * * * *

THE WAR-NOTE IN EXAMINATIONS.

Extract from Smith Minor's Scripture paper:--

"And when Jephthah saw his daughter coming to meet him he was
very much upset. But he had to keep to his vow, so he gave her
two months' leave and then he killed her."

* * * * *
Quoting a European statesman, saying the war would be won by the
last 500,000 bushels of what, Mr. Hoover said."--_New York
Times_.

We trust Mr. HOOVER will hurry up with his peroration.

* * * * *

"I feel that I might claim almost a special kinship with Baron
Sonnino, because I believe his mother was a Welsh lady."

_"Weekly Dispatch" Report of Premier's Speech._

"Baron Sonnino, by the way, who is of half-Scottish extraction,
speaks English perfectly. How many of the master minds at our
Foreign Office speak Italian perfectly?"

_"Weekly Dispatch" Secret History of the Week._

But in fairness to the "master minds" it should be remembered that few of them have the advantage of a Scotch father and a Welsh mother.

* * * * *

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

"THE BETTER 'OLE."

I must congratulate Mr. CHARLES COCHRAN on his courage in transforming the Oxford Music-hall into a home of "the legitimate," and still more on his good fortune in securing for the initiation of his new venture the play which Captain BRUCE BAIRNSFATHER and Captain ARTHUR ELIOT have written round the adventures of "Old Bill." In form it resembles a _revue_, but I prefer to call it a play, because it possesses a plot, distinct if slight--an encumbrance banned by most _revue_ producers; and because it contains an abundance of honest spontaneous fun. The authors start with the advantage, if it be an advantage, that the principal characters are already familiar to the audience through the medium of Captain BAIRNSFATHER's popular drawings; but they have not been content with reproducing their well-known, now almost hackneyed, adventures, but have added many others which are new and yet "come into the picture."

Their greatest piece of luck was in finding a comedian exactly fitted to fill the part of the humble hero. Mr. ARTHUR BOURCHIER as _Old Bill_ is absolutely "it." His make-up is perfect; he might have stepped out of the drawing, or sat for it, whichever you please. But, much more than that, he seems to have exactly realised the sort of man _Old Bill_ probably is in real life--slow-speaking and stolid in manner, yet with a vein of common-sense underlying his apparent stupidity; much addicted to beer and other liquids, but not brutalized thereby; and, while often grousing and grumbling, nevertheless possessed almost unconsciously of a strong sense of duty and an undaunted determination to see it through. It is a tribute to the essential truthfulness of Captain BAIRNSFATHER'S conception and Mr. BOURCHIER'S acting that one comes away from _The Better 'Ole_ feeling that there must be thousands of _Old Bills_ at the Front fighting for our freedom.

Admirable work is done, too, by Mr. TOM WOOTTWELL as _Bert_, the incorrigible amorist, for whom each new girl is "the only girl," and who has an apparently inexhaustible supply of identity-discs to leave with them as "sooveneers"; and by Mr. SINCLAIR COTTER as _Alf_, the cynical humourist--"Where were you eddicated, Eton or Harrod's?" is one of his best _mots_--who spends most of his time in wrestling with an automatic cigar-lighter. I think it would be only poetical justice if in the concluding scene, when _Old Bill_ comes into his own, the authors were for once to allow _Alf_ to succeed in lighting his "fag."

Of the many ladies who add charm to the entertainment I can only mention Miss EDMÉE DORMEUIL, who as _Victoire_ has an important share in the plot and saves _Old Bill's_ life; Miss GOODIE REEVE, who sings some capital songs; and Miss PEGGY DORAN, who looks bewitching as an officer of the Woman Workers' Corps. The music, arranged by Mr. HERMAN DAREWSKI, is catchy and not uncomfortably original: and the scenery, designed by Captain BAIRNSFATHER, gives one, I should say, as good an idea of the trenches as one can get without going there. In fine I would parody _Old Bill_ and say, "If you knows of a better show, go to it!"