at the head of one of these
drafts myself, freely admitting that John Fanshawe had the best of
the joke. He waved me farewell out of the hospital window by way of
emphasising this.

The Babe followed me out shortly after, bringing about fifty men with
him. He strolled into Mess one evening and mentioned quite casually
that The Beachcomber was in camp.

"How did you manage it?" we chorused in wonder.

"Heard the story of his leaving China and repeated the dose," the Babe
replied. "Just before the draft was warned, my batman led him down
to Mooney's shebeen and treated him to the run of his throat--at my
expense. He came all the way as baggage."

Thus did John Fanshawe complete the second stage of his journey to the
War. He did not remain with us long, however; a fortnight at the most.

We were doing some digging at the time, night-work, up forward, in
clay so glutinous it would not leave the shovels and had mainly to be
clawed out by hand--filthy, back-breaking, heart-rending labour. On
calling the roll one dawn I found that The Beachcomber was missing.

"Anybody seen anything of him?" I asked.

"Yessir, I did," a man replied, and spat disgustedly.

"Well," I inquired, "was he hit or anything?"

The man grunted, "No, Sir; I don't think 'e was 'it; I think 'e was
fed up. 'Call this war, do they?' says 'e to me. 'I call it blawsted
WORK!' I told 'im to get on wiv it an' do 'is whack.

"'E chucks a couple of spoonfuls of muck and then sits down. 'I can
feel me damned ol' malaria creepin' over me again, Jim,' says 'e.
'Noticed a Red Cross outfit in the valley; think I'll be totterin'
along there,' says 'e. 'So long.' And that was the last the regiment
saw of its Beachcomber."

* * * * *

"Have it as you like, Captain Dawnay-Devenish," I said, "but before I
go tell me, how did you wangle this job?"

"Any affair of yours?" he sneered.

"No," I admitted; "still I'm interested."

He laughed unpleasantly. "Yes, you would be. Always infernally keen on
minding my business for me, weren't you? Well, if you must know, I was
convalescing when these same Chows started a pogrom in the next camp.
I stopped it, and the powers--who were scared stiff--tacked a stripe
on me and told me to carry on."

"That accounts for the stripe," said I; "but what of the stars?"

"Oh, them! We were behind the line down south last year laying a toy
railway when the Hun broke clean through in a fog. Remembe