Not "meat pies," mark you, but "hot meat pies." Somehow that little
touch won my absolute belief.
Now we come to the solemn statement of Wiggins' brother-in-law. He is,
according to Wiggins, a patriot of the finest type--only prevented from
going to the front by the claims of business, a family of nine, and a
certain superfluity of adipose tissue. "When guarding a railway bridge
as a special constable a troop train stopped through an engine
breakdown. Numbers of finely built men in fur coats descended on to the
line. Two of them came to me and, making signs of thirst, said, 'Vodka,
vodka.' They embraced me warmly after I had offered them my
pocket-flask, and then, shouting 'Berlin,' rejoined the train."
I could quite believe that. Any brother-in-law of Wiggins would have a
pocket-flask.
Yet the Press Bureau solemnly asserts that no Russian troops have passed
through this country. I have now no faith in anyone's uncles, aunts nor
yet brothers-in-law. I believe nothing. Is there a KAISER? Is there a
War? Or is the whole thing a malignant invention of LLOYD GEORGE to save
a tottering Government? But then again--(most terrible of all
doubts)--is there a LLOYD GEORGE?
* * * * *