d
be fatigues and C.B.s and court-martials and shootings-at-dawn if It
continued. He was good, even for a Sergeant-Major.

The trouble was the hairs of the heads of the unit. And though he had
rightly got the unit by the hairs which should have been short we felt
it to be exceeding the limit on his part to refer to us as blanked
musicians. Moreover, the band were most annoyed about it.

The Sergeant-Major paused to reflect, and to arrange matters with what
he imagined was a sense of justice.

Though, he continued bitterly, we _were_ more like a Spillikins Circle
than an Army unit, he would, from sheer native kindness of heart, save
us the imminent gibbet or the burial by a trench-digging party which
awaited us. He would merely illustrate our manifold faults by taking the
case of No. 3 in the rear rank.

"Please, Sir----" This from the outraged No. 3.

Silence must be observed. There was no excuse for the state of No. 3's
hair. Here in camp (coldly), though we _were_ five miles from a town, we
had a barber, and by all report, though he had been there but two days,
an excellent barber. No. 3, rear rank, did not appear to know this.

"Sir----"

Silence in the ranks. Not only was the living presence of a most
valuable functionary stultified by No. 3, but he, like all his slack
kind, must babble on parade. He, the S.-M., would do all the talking
necessary. But even if No. 3 thought he _was_ back in his local Debating
Society even then he need not wear his hair long. The others might look
at him to see what an unclipped man could come to, and afterwards show
him the Barber's Tent.

A ripple went along the ranks, and No. 3's arms shot up despairingly.

There need be no demonstration, and No. 3 should remember that he was on
parade and furthermore was standing at attention. He had had no orders
to practise semaphore signalling.

Well, perhaps (grudgingly) he had now given the unit some faint inkling
of his feelings on the matter. If at any time in the future a long hair
was found on a man in his unit, etc., etc. (eleven minutes).

He would now condescend to hear any excuse that No. 3, rear rank, had to
offer, so that he would be able to remark upon its utter worthlessness.
Now, No. 3.

"Please, Sir," viciously, "I'm the barber."

* * * * *

"For fifteen years, he [Sir William Osler] said, the slowly
evolving, sprightly race of boys should dwell in a Garden of
Eden, su