Theory and Practice.
Scene._--Sand on the ---- Frontier of ---. A Cavalry outpost recently
arrived is sitting in a hollow in a vile temper, morosely gouging hunks
of tepid bully beef out of red tins. Several thousand mosquitos are
assiduously eating the outpost. There is nothing to do except to kill
the beasts and watch the antics of the scavenger beetle, who extracts a
precarious livelihood from the sand by rolling all refuse into little
balls and burying them. It is very hot._
_1st Trooper._ Shoot the devils, I would. I can't understand their
letting 'em go the way they do. The first one I meets I shoots. Killing
our wounded the way they do.
_2nd Trooper._ Ay, and killing's not the worst they do, neither. You
should ha' seen them, two poor fellows of ours wot was found. You
wouldn't be taking no prisoners after that.
_1st Trooper._ If I 'ad my way I wouldn't take no prisoners. 'Tain't
safe, for one thing. That was 'ow pore old Bill got done in; went to
take a white-headed old devil prisoner as might have been his
grandfather, and he up and strafed him in the stomach with a shot-gun.
Don't care 'oo it is. They say the women's as bad as the men.
_Corporal (darkly)._ Ah, shooting's too good for 'em, I say, after wot
they done.
_1st Trooper._ They do say they're starving now. Living on grass, 'alf
of 'em; specially after that lot of camels wot was captured.
_Corporal (darkly)._ Ah, let 'em starve, I say. Starving's too good for
'em after wot they done.
_2nd Trooper._ That's just it. They won't let 'em starve. As soon as
they've finished killing our wounded they comes into our camp with all
their families, and we feeds 'em up with dates and biscuits and probably
lets 'em go again.
_1st Trooper._ We're too soft-'earted, that's wot we are. Them Germans
wouldn't carry on like that; they'd shoot 'em quick and no more said.
_2nd Trooper._ Ay, you're right there, and when we gets home the first
thing we shall find is a relief fund to provide food for 'em.
_Corporal._ Well, they'd better not come near _this_ post; they won't
get no dates 'ere.
_Sentry._ Corporal, I can see 'alf-a-dozen of them blighters coming
along about a mile away. Shall I give 'em one?
_Corporal._ No, you idiot. Let's 'ave a look at 'em first.
_[Enter a middle-aged Arab, dressed in the most indescribable rags and
in the last stage of exhaustion. He is followed at long intervals by his
family to two generations, who watch his reception anxiously from
afar.]_
_Arab (falling flat on his face at sight of the Corporal). Bimbashi,
bimbashi, mongeries, mongeries._
_Corporal._ Yes, I'll bash yer all right. Grey-'eaded old reprobate, you
ought to know better.
_Arab (in an anguished voice). Mongeries, mongeries._
_1st Trooper._ Lord, he do look thin, por beggar. _Mongeries_--that
means food, don't it? 'E looks as if 'e hadn't eaten nothing for weeks.
'Ere, 'ave a biscuit, old sport.
_[Arab makes a spasmodic wriggle towards him.]_
_2nd Trooper._ Look out, Bill, 'e's going to bite your leg.
_1st Trooper (with dignity)._ No, 'e ain't; 'e's a-going to kiss my
boots. Gorblimy, 'e's a rum old devil!
_Corporal (suddenly remembering his duty)._ 'Ere you, take your clothes
off. Efta aygry. Strip.
_[The Arab undoes his rags, which slip to the ground.]_
_2nd Trooper._ Blimy, Alf, look at 'em. I never see such a thing in my
life. Look at that big one on his neck.
_1st Trooper (suddenly)._ I say, old chap, don't you never 'ave a bath?
_2nd Trooper._ Lord, though, ain't he thin? 'E's a fair skeleton.
_[The Arab puts on his clothes again and falls exhausted with the
effort.]_
_Corporal._ Pore old feller, 'e's fair done; give 'im a biscuit, Alf.
_1st Trooper._ Try 'im with some bully; they say they won't eat that,
though.
_2nd Trooper._ Won't 'e! I never seen the stuff go so quick. 'Ere, old
feller, don't eat the tin.
_Corporal._ Don't give 'im any more or 'e'll kill 'isself. Let's see if
his family can do the disappearing trick as quick as 'e can. Poor
devils, they've been through something. 'Ere, you family, _mongeries_.
_Tala henna._
_[The family are brought up and fed on the day's rations.]_
_2nd Trooper._ Lord, Alf, look at this kid; 'is legs ain't as thick as
my finger; cries just like they do at 'ome too. 'Ere, 'ave a bit o' jam.
_Corporal._ Take 'em back to camp now and 'and 'em over. Come on, old
boy; you're all right. Lord, ain't they pretty near done. Lucky they
found us when they did.
* * * * *
The Better Half.
"Thames Ditton.--Attested man called up willing to let half
house, or take another lady in similar position."--_Daily
Telegraph._
* * * * *
"WE GIVE OUR SONS."
Such our proud cry--a vain and empty boast;
Love did not ask so great a sacrifice;
The first _réveillé_ found you at your post;
You knew the cost; clear-eyed you paid the price;
Some far clear call we were too dull to hear
Had caught your ear.
Not ours to urge you, or to know the voice;
No stern decree you followed or obeyed;
Nothing compelled your swift unerring choice,
Except the stuff of which your dreams were made;
To that high instinct passionately true,
Your way you knew.
We did not give you--all unasked you went,
Sons of a greater motherhood than ours;
To our proud hearts your young brief lives were lent,
Then swept beyond us by resistless powers.
Only we hear, when we have lost our all,
That far clear call.
* * * * *
A Non-Stop Service.