JANE MUNKS,
"B" COY.,
and sought out Jane in her usual corner near the cook-house. He was
threading the disc with a piece of string when Sergeant Bulter appeared.
"What are you doin' to that dawg?" demanded the Sergeant.
"Fittin' 'er with a necklace," replied Chippo.
"Well, you can keep it to hang yourself with," said Bulter triumphantly;
"she's already provided."
Chippo perceived, what he had previously overlooked, that Jane's neck was
encircled with a collar marked--
JANE BULTER,
SERGEANTS' MESS.
A sick feeling of disappointment came over him, but he dissembled.
"I reckernize the family likeness, Sergeant," he remarked and walked away,
whilst Jane, with callous disregard for his sufferings, meditated whether
to dine with the Ration Corporal or the Sergeant Cook, or both.
Chippo walked gloomily in the direction of the town. As he approached the
_place_ the blaring of cornets and sounds of hilarity reminded him that
Quelquepart was holding its annual _foire_. Merry-go-rounds and swing-boats
were not in harmony with Chippo's mood, and the performance at the
gaudily-painted Guignol struck him as particularly dreary, but the sight of
Ferdinand Delauney's Grande Loterie, with its huge red wheel and tempting
array of prizes, roused him to animation. Ferdinand was attracting
investors by methods of persuasion which Chippo, as an acknowledged
"Crown-and-anchor" expert, recognised as masterly.
"Reckon I'll try a franc's-worth of Ferdy's prize bonds," he said. "But I
expect it'll just be my luck to win a dog-collar or a muzzle."
In due course the wheel began to revolve, and it had scarcely stopped
before Ferdinand jumped from the platform and embraced Chippo with emotion.
"_Mon ami_," he said, "_mes felicitations! Vous avez gagne le premier
prix!_"
Opening a crate he extracted an athletic young cockerel, which he thrust
under Chippo's arm, and the latter walked away with a prize for which he
had not the slightest use.
Presently the cockerel began to struggle, and Chippo, after considering all
methods of transport, took the string intended for Jane from his pocket,
attached it to the rooster's leg and marched it before him. He had not
proceeded far before he was confronted by the scandalised Sergeant Bulter,
with Jane trailing miserably at his heels.
"Hi!" shouted the Sergeant, "what do you mean parading the town like a
blamed poultry show?"
"A chap must 'ave a bit o' company when he goes out. _I_ ain't got no dawg
now," replied Chippo pathetically.
"Dawgs is one thing," said the Sergeant, "and a mangy wry-necked rooster
wot's probably missing from some-one's back-yard is another. It ain't
regimental."
"It's as regimental as a yellow flap-eared mongrel wot's bin enticed away
from its rightful owner," said the insubordinate Chippo. "There ain't
nothink in _King's Regs._ against it."
"P'r'aps there ain't," said Bulter; "but it ain't soldierlike."
"One minit, Sergeant. Wot's our regimental mascot? It's a goat. An' what's
the Dampshires'? A chattering monkey. If monkeys an' goats is soldierlike
so's poultry."
The Sergeant was silenced, and Chippo and his rooster proceeded on their
way, giving a finished exhibition of the goose-step.
Thereafter Chippo and his pet ostentatiously paraded the lines, selecting
the occasions when the Sergeant was starting out for a constitutional.
Though Bulter's feelings were sorely outraged he preserved an air of icy
aloofness, which Jane imitated as long as she was on the lead. This
apparent indifference should have been a warning to the cockerel, but he
did not know Jane's peculiar temperament. The full revelation came one
morning when they met in the lines unattended by their respective masters.
The rooster quickly fell a victim to feminine duplicity, and Jane carried
the mangled bundle of claws and feathers and dropped it at Chippo's feet.
Chippo took the remains to Sergeant Bulter.
"See what your dawg's done," he said with indignation.
"An' a good job too," answered Bulter.
"You 'ear that?" appealed Chippo to another N.C.O. who was standing by. "He
was allus jealous of me 'avin' a pet, so 'e deliberately set 'is dawg on
it, an' now 'e's gloatin'."
"See 'ere, my lad," spluttered Bulter, "you'll be for orderly-room
to-morrow if you ain't careful."
"Very well, Sergeant," said Chippo meekly; "it'll give me a chawnce to make
my complaint to the orficer."
"'Ow do you mean?"
"Why, against you for flat disobedience of Battalion horders. If you 'adn't
let your dawg run about the lines unattended this wouldn't 'ave 'appened."
The Sergeant's face bore the expression of a quack compelled to swallow his
own pills. Chippo continued relentlessly and untruthfully--
"I 'ear she's bit the Colonel's groom an' pinched the joint from the
Warrant Orficers' Mess. She never oughtn't to be at large, she didn't."
Rarely in his career had Bulter shown such visible discomfiture.
"Of course," added Chippo casually, "if Jane was _my_ dawg I'd 'ave no
grounds for complaint."
When your strong man is compelled to submit to the inevitable he usually
does it ungracefully. Bulter took the collar from Jane's neck and pushed
her over with his foot.
"Take the brute," he said, "an' if ever I see 'er round this Mess again
I'll shoot 'er!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Fatuous Person._ "ARE YOU A DIVER?"
_Cynic._ "HO, NO. I'M PAVLOVER'S DANCIN' PARTNER."]
* * * * *
"Paris, Friday.--The High Court of the Senate resumed in public its
hearing of the Caillaux trial.... The jury found the prisoner guilty.
Mr. Justice Darling postponed sentence."--_Scotch Paper._
No other journal appears to have noticed this remarkable extension of the
_Entente Cordiale_.
* * * * *