Chippo Munks is a regular time-serving soldier, as distinguished from
the amateurs who only joined the Army for the sake of a war. His company
conduct-sheet runs into volumes, and in peace-time they fix a special
peg outside the orderly-room for him to hang his cap on. At present he
systematically neglects the functions of billet-orderly at a Base town
in France.
A month or two ago he came across Chris Jones.
"Fined fourteen days' pay," said Chippo; "an' cheap it was at the price.
But the financial embarrassment thereby followin' puts me under the
necessity of borrowing the loan of a five-spotter."
"How did it happen?" said Chris, playing for time.
"'Twas this way," said Chippo. "The other night I was walking down the
Roo Roobray, thinking out ways of making you chaps more comfortable in
the billet, as is my custom. Suddenly out of the gloom there looms a Red
Indian in full war-paint.
"'Strange,' thinks I. 'Chinks an' Portugoose we expects here, likewise
Annamites and Senegalese an' doughboys; but I never heard that the
BUFFALO BILL aggregation had taken the war-path.'
"He passes, and a little Geisha comes tripping by. I rubs my eyes an'
says, 'British Constitootian' correctly; but she was followed by a Gipsy
King and a Welsh Witch. Then I sees a masked Toreador coming along, and
I decides to arsk him all about it. The language question didn't worry
me any. I can pitch the cuffer in any bat from Tamil to Arabic, an' the
only chap I couldn't compree was a deaf-an'-dumb man who suffered from
St. Vitus' Dance, which made 'im stutter with his fingers.
"'Hi, caballero,' says I, 'where's the bull-fight?'
"'It isn't a bull-fight, M'sieur,' he replies. 'It's Mi-Carême.'
"'If he's an Irishman,' I says, 'I never met him; but if it's a kind of
pastry I'll try some.'
"Then he shows me a doorway through which they was all entering, and
beside it was a big yellow poster which said, '_Mi-Carême. Grand Bal
Costume. Cavaliers, 2 francs. Dames, 1 franc 50 centimes.'_
"'I'd love to be a cavalier at two francs a time,' I remarks. 'Besides,
I want to make the farther acquaintance of little Perfume of Pineapple
Essence who passed by just now.'
"'It will be necessary to 'ave a costume, M'sieur,' says Don Rodrigo.
"'Trust me,' I answers with dignity; 'I've won diplomas as a fancy-dress
architect.'
"I goes to my billet and investigates the personal effects of my
colleagues. My choice fell on a Cameron kilt, a football jersey and a
shrapnel helmet. These I puts into a bundle an' hikes back to the Hall
of Dance.
"'May I ask what M'sieur represents?' said the doorkeeper as I paid my
two francs.
"'I haven't started yet,' I answers asperiously. 'I assumes my costume
as APPIUS CLAUDIUS in the dressing-room.'
"Well, when I'd finished my toilette--regrettin' the while that I
hadn't brought a pair of spurs to complete the costume--I entered the
ball-room. It was a scene of East-end--I mean Eastern--splendour.
Carmens an' Father Timeses, Pierrots an' Pierrettes, Pompadours an'
Apaches was gyrating to the soft strains of the orchestra, who perspired
at the piano in his shirt-sleeves.
"All of a sudden I saw my little Geisha, my Stick of Scented
Brilliantine, waltzing with the Toreador, an' my heart started beating
holes in my football jersey. When the orchestra stopped playing to light
a cigarette I sought her out.
"'O Choicest of the Fifty-seven Varieties,' I says, 'deign to give me
your honourable hand for the next gladiatorial jazz.'
"The Bull-fighter looked black, but she put her little hand in mine an'
we trod a stately measure. Every now an' then a shadow passed o'er the
ballroom, an' I knew it was the Toreador scowling. But I took no notice
of him, an' we danced nearly everything on the menu, Don Rodrigo only
getting an odd item now an' then to prevent him dying of grief.
"By-an'-by the Geisha said she must be going, so I offered to escort her
home. Don Roddy tried to butt in, and when he got the frozen face he
used langwidge more like a cow-puncher than a bull-fighter. I didn't
trouble to change my clothes, because it seemed to be the custom to walk
about like freaks at Mi-Carême, and we had a lovely promenade in the
pale moonlight.
"When I returned the revelry was nearly over an' the orchestra was
getting limp. I went into the cloak-room to change my clothes, but I
couldn't find 'em anywhere. What annoyed me most about it was that there
was five francs in my trouser pockets which I was saving to pay you back
the loan I borrered last week."
"I wondered when you were going to say something about that," said Chris
Jones.
"It fair upset me," continued Chippo. "And then all at once I saw my old
pal the Toreador sneaking out of the door with a bundle an' the leg of
a pair of khaki trousers hanging out of it. I gave a wild whoop an' was
after him like the wind.
"Don Roddy was some runner. He doubled down the Roo Roubray, dodged
round a corner an' made for the Grand Pont. I was gaining on him fast
when I plunked into the arms of two Military Police.
"'What particular specie of night-bird do you call yourself?' said one
of 'em, holding my arm in a grip of iron.
"'I'm a Sergeant-drummer in the Roman-Legion,' says I, trying to get
away. 'An' I'm in a hurry.'
"'Well, where's your pass?'
"'We don't wear 'em in our battalion,' I says. 'For heving's sake let me
go. There's a chap over there trying to pinch my wardrobe.'
"It was no use. They held me tight, notwithstandin' me struggles, till
the Toreador disappeared from view over the bridge.
"'That's done it. I'll go quietly,' I groans to the M.P.'s in
despair. 'That's Chris Jones's five francs gone west, and nuthen else
matters.'"...
"Well," said Chris Jones, "what then?"
"The rest you knows," said Chippo plaintively, "exceptin' that later my
clothes was mysteriously dumped at th' billet with the pockets empty.
But I think the distressing circumstances are such as warrants me in
arsking fer the loan of another five francs."
"They would be," said Chris Jones, fumbling with his wallet, "only I
happened to be the Toreador myself. But you can have the same old five
francs back, an' be 'as you were'!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: "CAN I 'AVE THE AFTERNOON OFF TO SEE A BLOKE ABAHT A JOB
FER MY MISSIS?"
"YOU'LL BE BACK IN THE MORNING, I SUPPOSE?"
"YUS--IF SHE DON'T GET IT."]
* * * * *