parade. His
service equipment alone was notorious in the division. While we were
still in England he and I used to share a billet. Every night the last
thing I saw before going to sleep was the Anarchist trying on a new
piece of personal furniture. He had at least a hundred aunts, and each
of them had at least a hundred bright ideas; besides which few days went
by but he paid a generous visit to the military outfitter. Never in my
life shall I forget the sight of him during our last moments at home.
While others were stuffing into themselves the last good meal they
expected to taste for three years or the duration, he was putting on
patent waterproof after patent waterproof. He stepped forth at last,
sweating at every pore, and it wasn't raining at the time and didn't
look like raining till next winter. The 38-lb. limit prevented his
putting more than four coats into his valise, and his method of packing
didn't economise space. If there had been any limit, however generous,
to the amount of room an officer may occupy in the column of route we'd
have had to go abroad without our Anarchist, and a much quieter and more
respectable life we'd have had that way.

Even in our earliest days in B.E.F., when we were well behind the firing
line, he started playing with fire. Thinking that we shared his low
tastes he would gather us round him and lecture us on the black
arts.--"This little fellow," he would say, fetching an infernal machine
out of his pocket--"this little fellow is as safe as houses provided he
has no detonator in his little head. But we will just make sure." A
flutter of excitement would pass round the audience as he started
unscrewing the top to make sure. "Of course," he'd continue, finding the
screw a bit stiff and getting absorbed in his toy--"of course, if there
_should_ happen to be a detonator inside, you have only to tickle it and
almost anything may happen." While he'd be struggling with the screw,
the front row of the audience would be shifting its ground to give the
back rows a better view. "You can't be too careful," he'd say, passing
it lightly from one hand to the other in order to search for his
well-known clasp-knife, "for if you're not careful," he'd explain,
tucking the bomb under his arm so as to have both hands free to open the
knife--"if you're not careful," he'd say, suddenly letting go the knife
in order to catch the bomb as it slid from his precarious hold--"if
you're not very careful" (get