That it takes you away from town in the dog days for a clear fortnight.
That, being farther away from London than Wimbledon, you escape the more
easily the attention of those who love tea, flirtation, and strawberries
and cream.
That there is plenty to do at the ranges with the rifle, and to see in
the neighbourhood on a bicycle.
That the conversation of your comrades is congenial, if slightly
"shoppy."
That, after all, it is better to talk all day of scores, than of links
or tyres.
That if the life becomes too monotonous, a train can carry you back to
Waterloo in forty minutes.
That life under canvas is recommended by the doctors when it is subject
to certain favourable climatic conditions.
That, with the power of enjoying your outing to the end, or cutting it
short at the beginning, you can yet claim credit for your self-denial
and patriotism.
* * * * *
[Illustration: CORONA FINIT OPUS.
_Mary Anne._ "When are they going to start this army reform they talk
such a lot about?"
_Private Atkins._ "Why bless your 'eart, _it's all
done_! Look at our new caps!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ALDERSHOT CAMPAIGN
_Private Sweeny (Highland regiment)._ "Colony bog, is it? Thin bedad! I
wish I was back in Tipperary!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BANTING IN THE YEOMANRY
_Troop Sergeant-Major._ "It comes to this, captain, 'a mun e'ther hev' a
new jacket or knock off one o' my meals!"]
* * * * *