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* * * * *

Algy.

Algy, it must be admitted, is no Adonis, but at least there is something in his great round pudding-face and his cheery idiotic smile which gives one the impression of a warm and optimistic nature.

Algy is humble and not ambitious; but for all that he is doing his bit, just as you and I are doing.  He never goes on strike, and if he had any money, which he never does have, I know he would invest it in War Loan.  Above all he is not a food-hog; not for him the forbidden potato or the millionaire’s beer—­no!  Against all luxuries Algy has resolutely steeled his voluminous tummy.  He has turned into the strictest of teetotalers, and, though a glass of Scotch may bring a wistful look into his eyes, yet he remains captain of his soul, unbroken as st. Anthony.

His job is war-work of the steeliest order, such as very few men would care to undertake.  All for the cause he stands, day after day, with a little band of comrades, facing uncomplainingly the most terrible buffetings, so that men may learn from him how to strike terror into the heart of the Hun.

Needless to remark, he is beloved by all the Tommies who inflict such pain upon the region of his gaudy blue waistcoat; he never seems to care and never grouses, but beams down on them undaunted with that quaint old grin of his.

’Twas a great and solemn day when we installed him.  Conspicuous by his horrible suit of reach-me-downs, supported on one side by the sergeant-major, on the other by the sergeant, he was led gently but firmly out of his billet and initiated into his honourable task.

Algy has but one grievance.  He wants badly to sport a few golden stripes on his cuff.  He is modest and does not push himself forward, but as he has several times been severely wounded be thinks it only fair that he should receive the coveted distinction.  But the authorities will not grant his simple request because, they say, he has shed no blood.

He has outlived all his compeers; lesser men may succumb but Algy goes on.  One day, I suppose, he will meet the common fate; but may that sorry day be far ahead.  For we could ill spare our Algy—­our dear old bayonet dummy!

* * * * *

    “Indian war Loan.—­The amount applied for in Rangoon yesterday was Rs.
    00,000, making the progressive total Rs. 00,00,000.”—­Rangoon Times.

Nothing to boast about.

* * * * *

The Ban on racing.