As I jogged by a Kentish Town
Delighting in the crops,
I met a Gipsy hazel-brown
With a basketful of hops.
"You Sailor from the Dover Coast
With your blue eyes full of ships,
Carry my basket to the oast
And I'll kiss you on the lips."
Once she kissed me with a jest,
Once with a tear--
O where's the heart was in my breast
And the ring was in my ear?
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Head of Government Department_ (_in his private room
in recently-commandeered hotel_). "BOY! BRING SOME MORE COAL!"]
* * * * *
WAR'S ROMANCES. [Now that fiction is occupying itself so much with
military matters, it is necessary to warn the lady novelist--as
it used to be necessary in other days to warn her in relation to
sport--to cultivate accuracy. There is a constant danger that the
popular story will include such passages as follow.]
"Corporal Cuthbert Crewdson," said the Colonel in a kindly voice,
"your work has been very satisfactory--so much so that I have decided
to promote you. From to-day you will no longer be Corporal, but
Lance-Corporal." With a grateful smile our hero saluted and retired to
draw his lance at the Adjutant's stores.
* * * * *
"Darling," cried the handsome young private, "I told the Colonel of
our engagement, and he said at once I might bring you to tea at our
Mess any Sunday afternoon."
* * * * *
One night, as Private Jones and the Sergeant-major were strolling
arm-in-arm through the High Street...
* * * * *
"Remember," said the old Major, eyeing his eighteen-year-old subaltern
son with a shrewd affectionate glance, "a little well-placed courtesy
goes a long way. For instance, if a Sergeant should call you 'Sir,'
never forget to say 'Sir' to him."
* * * * *
Osbert, his cane dangling from his left hand and with Mabel at his
side, sailed proudly down Oxford Street. Suddenly a Tommy hove in
sight. At once Osbert passed his stick to his other hand, leaving
the left one free. The next moment the man was saluting, and Osbert,
bringing up his left hand in acknowledgment, passed on.
"It is always well to be scrupulously correct in these little
details," he explained.
* * * * *
Mildred, her heart beating rapidly, stood shyly behind the muslin
curtain as George, looking very gallant in khaki, strode past the
window with his frog hopping along at his side.
* * * * *
Sidney Bellairs, apparently so stern and unbending on parade, was
adored by his men. Often he had been known, when acting as "orderly
officer" (as the officer is called who has to keep order), to carry
round with him a light camp-stool, which, with his unfailing charm
of manner, he would offer to some weary sentry. "There, my boy, sit
down," he would say, without a trace of condescension.
* * * * *
Lord Debenham succeeded because even in small things he could look
ahead. "Ethelred," he would say to his batman, "there is to be a
field-day to-morrow, so see that my haversack, water-bottle and slacks
are put ready for me in the morning."
"Very good, my lord," the orderly would answer.
* * * * *
Marmaduke sprang forward. The Hun's bomb, its pin withdrawn, was about
to explode. Coolly removing his costly gold-and-diamond tie-pin,
he thrust this substitute into the appointed place in the terrible
sizzling bomb, and stood back with a little smile. The next moment
his General stepped towards him and pinned to his breast the Victoria
Cross.
* * * * *
Colonel Blood belonged to the old school--irascible, even explosive,
but at bottom a heart of gold. Often after thrashing a subaltern with
his cane for some neglect of duty he would smile suddenly and invite
the offender to dine with him at the Regimental Mess as if nothing had
happened.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Lady_ (_asking for the third time_). "HAVE WE REACHED
NO. 234 YET?"
_Conductor._ "YES, MUM. HERE YOU ARE." [_Stops bus._]
_Lady._ "OH, I DIDN'T WANT TO GET OUT. I ONLY WANTED TO SHOW MY LITTLE
FIDO WHERE HE WAS BORN."]
* * * * *