In due course the matter came to the ears of the Staff Captain, who broached the subject at breakfast as the General was probing his second poached egg.

“This,” said the General, who is rather given to the vernacular, “is the limit.  A North-South-East-West report is preposterous.  Something must be done.  Haven’t we got a weather-vane of our own?  Pass the marmalade, will you?”

Four people reached hastily for the delicacy, and the O.O. feeling out of it passed the milk for no reason. (Generals really get a very good time.  People have been known to pass things to them unasked.)

“What about those two vanes in our last headquarters, Sir?” said the Staff Captain brightly—­he is very bright and bird-like in the mornings—­“the ones the padre thought were Russian fire-guards.  Can’t we get them?  They aren’t ours, but then they aren’t anybody’s—­they’ve been there a year, the old woman told me.”

“Where’s the Orderly Officer?” (He was there with a mouthful of toast.) “Take the mess limber and fetch ’em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will let you—­they’re in there now, aren’t they?”

“And if you’re g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner,” said the Brigade Major; “everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse.”

“Why?” said the General.

“Indigestion—­nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all after dinner.”

“Good heavens!” said the General; “bring a turbot.”

* * * * *

“Fish!” said the B.M. at dinner.  “Bong!”

“I brought the vanes, Sir.”

“Have any trouble?”

“No, Sir.  I saw the A.D.C., and said we had ‘left them behind,’ which was true, you know, Sir.” (The O.O. for once felt himself the centre of interest and desired to improve the occasion).  “We did ’leave them behind,’ so it wasn’t a lie exactly ...”

“I don’t care if it was,” said the General; “you’ve got ’em, that’s the main thing.”

“Where will you have one put, Sir?”

“In the fields,” said the B.M.

“Not too low,” said the Captain.

“Or too high,” said Signals.

“Or too far away,” said the attached officer.

“Well, now you know,” said the General, “pass the chutney.”

They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly dug-in.

* * * * *

“Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir,” said the Staff Captain next morning.

“——!” said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the vernacular).  “Where’s our vane?”

“It’s up, Sir,” said the O.O., shining proudly again, “and I—­”

“We’ll have’ a look at it,” and out they all went—­General, Brigade Major (enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright and birdlike), and the O.O.  It was a brilliant spectacle.

“North is—­there!” said the General in his best field-day manner, “and this is pointing—­due East!” He touched the vane gently.  It did not budge.  He touched it again.  A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.