e centre of an interested
group. As the company scapegrace and black sheep of the battalion he
occupies in his mates' eyes a position of considerable importance. His
repartees are famous, and none knows better than he how to score off
an unpopular officer or N.C.O. He has the distinction also of having
spent more days in the guard-room than any other man in the battalion.

On the occasion when identity discs were being served out to the men
and a momentary stir pervaded the battalion, it was Wankin who first
became involved in trouble.

He employed the disc string to fasten the water-bottle of the man
on his left to the haversack of the man on his right, and the
colour-sergeant, livid with rage, vowed to chasten him by confining
him eternally to barracks. But the undaunted company scapegrace was
not to be beaten. Fastening the identity disc on his left eye he fixed
a stern look on the sergeant.

"My deah fellah," he drawled out, imitating the voice of the company
lieutenant who wears an eyeglass, "your remarks are uncalled for,
really. By Jove! one would think that a scrap of string was a gold
bracelet or a diamond necklace. I could buy the disc and the string
for a bloomin' 'apenny."

"You'll pay dearly for it this time," said the colour with fine irony.
"Three days C.B.[2] your muckin' about'll cost you." And before Wankin
could reply the sergeant was reporting the matter to the captain.

[Footnote 2: Confinement to Barracks.]

Wankin is eternally in trouble, although his agility in dodging
pickets and his skill in making a week's C.B. a veritable holiday are
the talk of the regiment. All the officers know him, and many of them
who have been victims of his smart repartee fear him more than
they care to acknowledge. The subaltern with the eyeglass is a bad
route-marcher, and Wankin once remarked in an audible whisper that
the officer had learned his company drill with a drove of haltered
pack-horses, and the officer bears the name of "Pack-horse" ever
since.

On another occasion the major suffered when a battalion kit inspection
took place early one December morning. Wankin had sold his spare pair
of boots, the pair that is always kept on top of the kit-bag; but when
the major inspected Wankin's kit the boots were there, newly polished
and freed from the most microscopic speck of dust. Someone tittered
during the inspection, then another, and the major smelt a rat. He
lifted Wankin's kit-bag in his hand and fo