s of life were matters of private
enterprise--let me tell you that in this village, if I say that I
require coal, _coal is here_, and with it the Buergermeister inquiring
politely if my needs are satisfied. We must have beds? The spare beds
of the village are forthcoming. If we want baths for the men, our
Mr. Carfax, who speaks a language which the inhabitants pretend to
understand, goes round to the householders and explains the necessity.
Should there be any difficulty he explains further that it would be
_much_ better, don't they think, and _much_ more convenient if the
men visited the houses, rather than that baths should be carried to
some central place? It is invariably found to be preferable for all
concerned.

Bathing has now become a pleasure to all, except, perhaps, to
Nijinsky, our Pole from Commercial Road, East. On being presented
(for the first time, I gather) to a first-class bathroom with geyser
complete, he evinced signs of great uneasiness. In fact he seemed to
think that this was making a parade of a purely private matter. The
Sergeant-Major, being called in, exhorted him to "get in and give the
thing a trial," at which Nijinsky flung up his hands in characteristic
fashion and said, "Vell, it's somethink fur nothink, anyhow," and
they left him to it. The rest of the story is concerned with his
turning off the water in the geyser and leaving the gas on, of a loud
explosion and the figure of Nijinsky, fat and frightened, fleeing
through the main street dressed in an Army towel. Subsequently I heard
him expressing forcibly a fixed determination never, _never_ to be
persuaded against his will again.

Oh, yes, it is a wonderful thing to be a Hun. Every day we go about
telling one another what Huns we are and how we love our hunnishness.
And yet, you know, as a matter of fact, I don't believe all our
efforts amount to anything really; they wouldn't deceive a child--and
in fact they don't. For ever since we came here one can't help
noticing that the little tiny natives have acquired an extraordinarily
good imitation of Tommy's salute, and, though Subalterns and
Sergeant-Majors may go about gnashing their teeth and wearing
expressions of frightful ferocity, still the youngsters grin
fearlessly as they raise their tiny fingers. They know it isn't real.
They know a Hun when they see him all right; what child doesn't?

And I caught our Mr. Carfax picking one of them up from the gutter the
other day and sooth