cause you're a
poor homeless wanderer----"

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," broke in the Doctor mournfully.

"You come to live with us, I say," went on the Scotchman, "and then do
nothing but criticise our food and our morals."

"Heaven knows they both need it. Pass me what's left of the syrup,
little one. Scrape the rest of it off your chin, my cherub, and wrap it
up in a handkerchief and take it up to the trenches with you."

"You're vewy wude." The junior subaltern adjusted the balance in the
matter of the letter R with the Scotchman. Two months ago he had been at
home--in peace time he would still have been at school. But of such
mixtures is the present British Army made. "It's my face."

As a statement of fact the remark left nothing to be desired; as a
statement of expediency, when other infants were present, the same cannot
be said. Words, in fact, were trembling on the tongue of a veteran of
six months when the C.O. came suddenly into the room.

"Bring me an egg," he shouted to the mess waiter in the kitchen next
door. "Listen to this, my bonnie boys." He produced a paper from his
coat pocket and sat down at the table. "Secret. A large object has
fallen beside the sap leading out to Vesuvius crater. It is about the
size of a rum jar, and is thought to be filled with explosive. It has
been covered with sandbags and its early removal would seem desirable, as
the sap is frequently bombarded--Damn it, this egg's addled. Take it
away, it's got spots on it. Where did I get to? Oh! yes--bombarded with
aerial darts and rifle grenades." He replaced the paper in his pocket
and reached for the teapot.

"Thought to be filled with explosive!" The Scotchman looked up
sarcastically from the letter he was censoring. "What's it likely to be
filled with?"

"Marmalade, ducky," remarked the Doctor, still harping on his grievance.

"In addition to that the Pumpkin desires my presence at the Centre
Battalion Head-quarters at 10 ak emma." The C.O. was prodding his second
egg suspiciously.

The Pumpkin, it may be explained in parenthesis, was the not unsuitable
nickname of the Divisional General.

"Is the old man coming round the trenches?" Jackson, the subaltern in
whose tender care reposed the crater of Vesuvius and all that appertained
thereto, including rum jars, looked up with mild interest.

The C.O. glanced at the message beside him. "'The G.O.C. wishes to meet
the Engineer Officer in charg