Old Slingswivel so arranged the itinerary that the girls didn’t perceive that the sector was bounded on one side by Pere Popeau’s turnip field and on the other by a duck-pond, and he showed a tactical knowledge of the value of cover in getting us into a trench out of view of certain stakes and pickets that were obviously used by Mere Popeau as a drying-ground.  To divert attention he gave a vivid demonstration of bombing along a C.T. with clods of earth, with myself as bayonet-man nipping round traverses and mortally puncturing sand-bags with a walking-stick.  It must have been a pretty nervy business for the Major, for any minute we might have come across a notice-board about the hours of working parties knocking off for dinner that would have given the whole show away.  But he displayed fine qualities of leadership and presence of mind at critical moments, notably when Gwennie showed a disposition to explore a particular dug-out.

“I shouldn’t advise you to go in there, Miss Gwennie,” he said gravely.

“Why?” asked Gwennie apprehensively.

“Not a pleasant sight for a lady,” said the Major gruffly.  “It upset me one day when I looked in.”

This was probable enough, for the Mess steward used it as a store for empty bottles.

Gwennie shuddered and passed on.

The Major mopped his forehead with relief and set the ladies souveniring among old water-tin stoppers, which he alleged to be the plugs of hand-grenades.

Taking it all round, it was a successful morning’s show, which did credit to the producer, and it was only spoiled when, so to speak, the curtain rolled down amidst thunders of applause.

“We don’t realize what we owe to gallant soldiers like you,” said Gwennie admiringly.

The Major waved a fat deprecating hand.

“And Captain Spenlow has just been telling me,” continued Gwennie, “that you occupied this sector all through the War and that you hung on right to the very last, notwithstanding incredible efforts to dislodge you.”

At this crude statement of the naked facts Slingswivel’s face went a deeper shade of purple, and you can appreciate why I put in an urgent application for immediate release, on compassionate grounds, and why the Major gladly endorsed it.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  The New Minister. “BOY, DO YE NO KEN IT’S THE SAWBATH?”

Boy. “OH AY, FINE.  BUT THIS IS WORK O’ NECESSITY.”

Minister. “AN’ HOO IS THAT?”

Boy. “THE MEENISTER’S COMIN’ TAE DINNER AN’ WE’VE NAETHIN’ TAE GIE ’IM.”]

* * * * *

    “WAR CRIMINALS.

    THE THREE PREMIERS MEET ALONE TO-DAY.”—­Evening Paper.

We suspect Mr. KEYNES’ hand in these headlines.

* * * * *

    “Information wanted as to whereabouts of Mrs. J.O.  Plonk (Blonk) wife
    of J.O.  Plonk (Clonk).”—­Advt. in Chinese Paper.