in red on yer Defaulter’s Sheet.  Regimental Sarjen’ Majer!  I shall be an Orficer more like, and walk acrost the crossin’ wot you’re asweepin’, to me Club in bloomin’ well Pickerdilly!  Yus.  This is the days o’ _?  Demockerycy_, me lad.  ’Good Lloyd George’s golden days’ as they sing—­and steady fellers like me is goin’ to ave C’missh’ns—­an’ don’ you fergit it!  Farver ’ung indeed!”

“I’m awf’ly sorry, Corporal, really,” apologized Dam.  “I didn’t think....”

“No, me lad,” returned the unmollified superior, as he stooped to the other boot, “if you was to think more an’ booze less you’d do better....  ‘Ow an’ where you gets ’old of it, beats me.  I’ve seed you in delirium trimmings but I ain’t never seed you drinkin’ nor yet smelt it on yer.  You’re a cunnin’ ‘ound in yer way.  One o’ them beastly secret-drinkin’ swine wots never suspected till they falls down ‘owlin’ blue ‘orrors an’ seem’ pink toadses.  Leastways it’s snakes you sees.  See ’em oncte too orfen, you will....  See ’em on p’rade one day in front o’ the Colonel.  Fall orf yer long-face an get trampled—­an’ serve yer glad....  An’ now shut yer silly ‘ed an’ don’t chew the mop so much.  Let me get some sleep. I ’as respontsibillaties I do....”

A crossing outside a Club!  More likely a padded cell in a troopship and hospital until an asylum claimed him.

In the finals, “Sword versus Sword Dismounted,” Dam had a foeman worthy of his steel.

A glorious chilly morning, sunrise on a wide high open maidan, rows of tents for the spectators at the great evening final, and crowds of officers and men in uniform or gymnasium kit.  On a group of chairs sat the Divisional General, his Colonel on the Staff, and Aide-de-Camp; the Brigadier-General, his Brigade-Major, and a few ladies, wives of regimental colonels, officers, and leading Civilians.

Semi-finals of Tent-pegging, Sword v.  Sword Mounted, Bayonet-fighting, Tug-of-War, Fencing, and other officers’ and men’s events had been, or were being, contested.

The finals of the British Troops’ Sword v. Sword Dismounted, was being reserved for the last, as of supreme interest to the experts present, but not sufficiently spectacular to be kept for the evening final “show,” when the whole of Society would assemble to be thrilled by the final Jumping, Driving, Tent-pegging, Sword v. Sword Mounted, Bayonet-fighting, Sword v. Lance, Tug-of-War, and other events for British and Indian officers and men of all arms.

It was rumoured that there was a Sergeant of Hussars who would give Trooper Matthewson a warm time with the sabre.  As the crowd of competitors and spectators gathered round the sabres-ring, and chairs were carried up for the Generals, ladies, and staff, to witness the last and most exciting contest of the morning’s meeting, a Corporal-official of the Assault-at-Arms Executive Committee called aloud, “Sergeant O’Malley, 14th Hussars, get ready,” and another fastened a red band to the Sergeant’s arm as he stepped forward, clad in leather jacket and leg-guards and carrying the heavy iron-and-leather head-guard necessary in sabre combats, and the blunt-edged, blunt-pointed sabre.