They scrambled into the carriage in a tremendous hurry, all talking at
once at the tops of their voices, all very excited and very dirty. They
had mud on their boots which had evidently come from France, and their
overcoats had that rumpled appearance which distinguishes overcoats from
the Front from those merely in training.
There seemed to be about ten of them as they got into the train, but
when they had deposited various objects on the rack, such as rifles,
haversacks, and kit-bags like partially deflated airships, the number
resolved itself into three.
The compartment already contained--besides myself--a naval warrant
officer, reading _Freckles_ with a sentimental expression, and a large
leading seaman with hands like small hams and a peaceful smile like a
jade Buddha. It said "H.M.S. Hedgehog" round his cap, but when I
ventured to remark that I once in peace-time saw and visited that vessel
he observed with indifference that "cap-ribbons was nothin' to go by
these days; point o' fact, he never see that there ship in his puff."
Otherwise they maintained that deep and significant silence which we
have learned to associate with our Navy.
The Tommies, however, were in very talkative vein. "Now," I thought, "I
shall doubtless hear some real soldiers' stories of the War, even as the
newspaper men hear them and reproduce them in the daily prints: the
crash of the artillery, the wild excitement of battle--in short, the
Real Thing...."
A momentous question had evidently been under discussion when they
entered the train, and as soon as they were settled in their seats they
resumed it.
"Wot I want to know is," said the largest of the three, a big man with a
very square face and blue eyes,--"wot I want to know is--is that there
feller to go walkin' about naked?" The last word was pronounced as a
monosyllable.
He set his fists squarely on his knees and glared around him with a
challenging expression.
"No, it's agin the law," said a small man with a very hoarse voice.
"Course it is," rejoined the other. "Well, wot's the feller to do?
That's wot I ast you. If 'e walks about naked, well, 'e gets took up for
bein' naked; if 'e doesn't, why, 'e gets 'ad for not returnin' 'is
uniform."
He looked round again and decided to take the rest of us into
consultation.
"This 'ere's 'ow it stands--see? 'Ere's a feller got the mitten along o'
not bein' able to march, through gettin' shot in the leg. 'E goes 'ome
pendin' 'is _dis_charge, an' o' course e' walks about in 'is uniform.
Then 'e gets 'is _dis_charge, an' they tells 'im to return 'is kar-kee
_an'_ small kit----"
"An' small kit?" burst out the third member of the party indignantly--a
sprightly youth with a very short tunic and a pert expression. "Do they
want you to return your small kit when you get the mitten? Watch me
returnin' mine, that's all!"
"You'll 'ave to," said the voice of Discipline.
"'Ave to, I don't think!" said the rebel ironically; "I couldn't if I'd
lorst it."
"I ain't got no small kit, any 'ow," said the small and husky one; "I
put my 'aversack down when we was diggin' one of our chaps out of a Jack
Johnson 'ole, and some bloomin' blighter pinched it! Now that's a thing
as I don't 'old with. Rotten, I call it. I wouldn't say nothing about
it, mind you, if I was dead; I like to 'ave something as belonged to a
comrade, myself, an' I know as 'e'd feel the same, seein' as 'e couldn't
want it 'imself. But, if you take a feller's things w'en 'e's alive,
why, you don't know 'ow bad 'e might want 'em some day."
"Corporal 'e ses to me, las' kit inspection," broke in the fresh-faced
youth, disregarding this nice point of ethics, "'W'ere's your
tooth-brush?' 'e ses. 'Where you won't find it,' I ses. ''Oo're you
talkin' to?' 'e ses. 'Dunno,' I ses; 'the ticket's fell off!... Wot
d'yer call yourself, any'ow,' I ses, 'you an' yer stripe?' I ses. 'Funny
bundle,' I ses, 'that's what I call you!'"
"Well, I don't see wot a feller's got to do," said the propounder of the
problem, returning to the charge. "Granted as 'e can't walk about naked;
granted as 'e 'asn't got a suit o' civvies of 'is own--wot _is_ 'e to
do?"
"'Ang on to 'is kar-kee" said the hoarse-voiced man. The setter-down of
corporals retired within himself, probably to compose some humorous
repartee.
The warrant officer came out of _Freckles_ and suggested writing a
letter.
"'E 'as done. 'E's wrote an' told 'em 'as 'e can't send 'is kar-kee back
until 'e gets a suit o' Martin 'Enry's or thirty bob in loo of same. An'
all as they done was to write again an' demand 'is uniform at once."
The warrant officer sighed and opined that orders were orders.
"Yes, but 'e 'd 'ave to carry 'em to the Post Office naked, wouldn't 'e?
An' 'ow about goin' to buy new ones? That's if 'e 'd drawed 'is pay,
which 'e 'asn't. Unreasonable, that's wot I calls it."
"'Asn't 'e got no civvies at all?" said the small man, beginning to look
sceptical. "'Asn't 'e got no one as 'd lend 'im a soot? Anyways, 'e
could get some one to post 'em for 'im, an' then stop in bed till 'is
others come."
"'E's a very lonely feller," said the champion of the unclad; "'e lives
in lodgin's, an 'e 'asn't got no friends. If 'e 'adn't got no clothes
for to fetch 'is pay in, wot then?"
A gloomy silence, a silence fraught with the inevitability of destiny,
settled on the party.
The warrant officer, who had been pretending to resume _Freckles_,
presently looked up and suggested that he could go in his uniform to a
tailor, explain the position and obtain clothes on credit.
The originator of the problem thought hard for a minute.
"'E isn't a man as I'd care to trust myself," he said rather
unexpectedly, "an' I don't think no one else would neither."
It was at this point that the man from H.M.S. _Hedgehog_ (or, to be
precise, H.M.S. _Something Else_) fell into the conversation suddenly,
like a bomb.
"'E wouldn't be naked," he said earnestly; "'e'd 'ave 'is shirt."
This was a staggerer. One of those great simple truths sometimes
overlooked by more abstruse thinkers. But the owner of the problem made
one more stand.
"'Oo'd walk about in a shirt?" he said scornfully.
"Me," said the large seaman, "time I was torpedoed...."
He didn't say another word; but the problem was irretrievably lost.
There had been something magnificently daring about the idea of a man
walking about like a lost cherub; partly clothed, nobody cared very much
what became of him.
Besides, we all wanted to hear Admiralty secrets. We sat there in
respectful silence while the train rattled on its way; but the large
seaman only went on smiling peacefully to himself, as if he were
ruminating in immense satisfaction upon unprecedented bags of
submarines.
* * * * *
"The architect for the new building left nothing out that would
at all hamper the comfort of those who make this hotel their
stopping place."--_New Zealand Paper._
We know that architect.
* * * * *
"The _Severn_ was moored in a position 1,000 miles closer to the
enemy than on July 6, which made her fire much more effective."
_Natal Mercury._
We can well believe this.
* * * * *