n't be happy till he gets you. He thinks
you a pretty and a proper child and fairly clean. _What abaht it?_"

"Good Lord," said I. "I don't know what an A.D.C. is! What do I do?"

"Oh, see that the old gentleman is fed. And cut out the saucy girls
from 'La Vie Parisienne,' and decorate the mess walls with them.
And--and all that sort of thing."

"Go on, Ray," urged Doe. "Of course you'll be it. Put him down for
the job. I wish the old general had fallen in love with _me_.'

"I don't mind trying it," I said. "Anything for a change."

"Right," replied the Bombing Officer. "Ray, having been four days
with a company of the East Cheshires, feels in need of a change. He
desires to better himself. Now for the next point. I'm chucking this
Bombing Officer stunt. It's too dangerous. Both my predecessors were
killed, and yesterday the Turk threw a bomb at _me_. Now, is there
anybody tired of his life and laden with his sin? Anyone want to
commit suicide? Anyone feel a call? Anyone want to do the bloody
hero, and be Brigade Bombing Officer?"

Doe blushed at once.

"I'll have a shot at it.... Anything for a change," he added
apologetically.

"That's the spirit that made England great!" said the Bombing
Officer. "I do like keenness. Splendid! Ray goes to the softest job
in the Army, and Doe, stout fellow, to the damnedst. Thanks: just
another little spot. Cheerioh!"

In name my new character was that of Brigade Ammunition Officer, but
it amounted, as the Bombing Officer had said, to being A.D.C. to the
Brigadier. I was entirely miserable in it. Painfully shy of the old
general and his staff-officers, I never spoke at meals in the solemn
Headquarters Mess unless I had carefully rehearsed before what I was
going to say. And, when I said it, I saw how foolish it sounded.

And Major Hardy--who, you will remember, was our Brigade Major--used
to be unnecessarily funny about my youth, fixing me with his monocle
over the evening dinner-table and asking me if I were allowed to sit
up to dinner at home. I imagine he thought he was humorous.

Grand old Major Hardy! I must not speak lightly of him here. It is
only because I have now to finish his story that I have mentioned my
regrettable declension on to the staff.

Major Hardy had not been ten days on the Peninsula before he made
his reputation. His monocle, his "what," and his rich maledictions
were admired and imitated all along the Brigade front. From Fusilier
Bluff to Stanl