Comedy, it has been observed, turns upon character, and many little
comedies of the war hinge upon the mere personality of Thomas Atkins
himself, and the somewhat difficult adjustment of that uniquely
stubborn thing to a new environment. The resulting incidents derive
a great part of their humor from Mr. Atkins's manner of narrating
them--especially if he chance to be from London. There is no wittier or
more tersely vivid _raconteur_ than the Cockney, and though one often
hears the humor of the British soldier described as unconscious, it
is really nothing of the kind. Spontaneous and unpremeditated it may
be, but such penetrating acumen as his racy idiom reveals was never
unconscious.
Half-a-dozen soldiers home from the Front on short leave found
themselves in a railway carriage bound for Victoria. They were of
different battalions, and fell naturally to the swapping of yarns.
Soon the conversation drifted to "souvenirs," a topic of surpassing
interest. Trophies were produced by each in turn, with the exception
of one taciturn member of the party who sat in a corner seat morosely
sucking at a short clay pipe.
"_I_ ain't brought nothin' 'ome wiv me," was the curt response to a
suggestion that the silent one should produce his little lot. There
ensued a dialogue.
"Wot, nothin' at all?"
"No!"
"Well, I'm blowed! Fancy a bloke comin' 'ome on leave and not bringin'
nothin' wiv 'im! Ain't you got no sooverneer?"
"Sooveneer! No, I ain't got no sooveneer--not unless you call this 'ere
a sooverneer."
The morose one fumbled in his haversack and pulled forth a brass
door-knob, which he displayed upon an extended palm. Its appearance
excited derision.
"That's a perishin' fine sooveneer, I _don't_ think! Why, it's only a
ornery door-knob!"
"Well, wot abaht it? S'posin' it is only an ornery door-knob! Maybe you
dunno 'ow I come by it!"