The Colonel rustles his newspaper, smites it into shape with a mighty fist,
rips it across in a futile endeavour to fold it accurately, and, casting it
furiously aside in a crumpled mass, says, after the manner of all true War
Lords, "Umph." Whereupon the Ante-Room as one man takes cover.
The Colonel then turns cumbrously in his chair, permitting his eye to rove
round the room in search of the unwary prey. He smiles cynically at the
intense concentration of the Auction parties; winces at the renewed and
unnatural efforts of those who make music; glares unamiably at the feverish
book-worms, and suddenly breaks into little chuckles of satisfaction. The
Ante-Room peers cautiously round to discover the identity of the
unfortunate victim, and chuckles in its turn. The Adjutant, checked in his
stealthy retreat, hastens back, arranges the table and chess-board, pokes
the fire with unnecessary energy, and sits down. At once the Ante-Room
abandons its cover.
The Colonel begins by grasping the box, turning it upside down, and
spilling the contents over the sides of the table. The Adjutant immediately
apologises for his clumsiness. The Colonel then liberally spreads out the
pieces, selects two pawns, and offers the Adjutant the choice of two fists.
The Adjutant chooses. Each fist opens to disclose a white pawn. The
Colonel's expansive smile over his little joke quickly turns to a frown at
the Adjutant's exaggerated laughter. He suspects the Adjutant. He seizes
two more pieces, offers his opponent another choice, but, to the latter's
huge delight and his own discomfiture, eventually discovers that both are
black. He accordingly makes use of his casting vote and selects white.
The Colonel plays a smashing game. When it is his turn to move he never
pauses to make up his mind. His mind is already made up. All he has to do,
immediately the Adjutant has finished touching up his position, is to move
the piece his eye has been piercing throughout the long period of his
opponent's cautious deliberation. When the Colonel moves a piece he may be
said to get there. All obstructions are ruthlessly swept aside with a
callous indifference to Hague Conventions. Should a knight haply descend
from the clouds and settle on the correct square it arrives more by luck
than judgment. Tradition alleges that whenever the Colonel is called upon
to move his king in the earlier stages of the game all lights are turned
off from the neighbouring town in accordance with the Defence of the Realm
Regulations. However true this may be--the responsibility rests on the
Padre's capable shoulders--when his king is moved in the later stages the
Colonel pushes it along by half-squares in a haphazard and preoccupied
manner. He invariably fills his pipe when the end is in sight, but leaves
it unlighted so that he may cover his ultimate defeat by a general
demolition of matches.
On this occasion the Adjutant skilfully snipes the Colonel's queen in the
sixth move. The Colonel immediately retrieves the piece from the box, asks
where it was before, examines it with the essence of loathing and revolt,
removes it out of his sight, and refuses to take it back, although he had
mistaken it for another piece. In retaliation he proceeds to concentrate
all his effectives on his opponent's queen, and, after sacrificing the
flower of his forces, drives the attack home and gains his objective with
the greatest enthusiasm. He remarks that the capture was costly, but that
honour is satisfied, and would the waiter kindly approach within ear-shot?
While the Adjutant is working up his offensive on the Colonel's right
flank, the Colonel himself is making independent sallies on the left,
unless, of course, he is compelled to march his king out of a congested
district into more open country. On the rare occasions when he is at a loss
for a moment what to do he makes it a practice to move a pawn one square in
order to gain time. By this method, unexpectedly but none the less
jubilantly, he recovers his queen--only to see it laid low again by
enfilading fire from a perfectly obvious redoubt.
After twenty minutes of battle the Colonel's area becomes positively
draughty, and the sole survivors of his dashing but sanguinary
counter-attack, the king and two pawns, have assumed the bored and callous
air of a remnant that has fought too long and is called upon to fight
again. The Colonel has just unceremoniously pushed his sovereign to the
rear with a flick of his nervous irritated little finger. His opponent can
obviously bring him to his knees in two moves. Instead of which the
Adjutant brazenly commences with massed bands and colours flying to execute
a masterly tactical advance with the whole of his command--cavalry,
infantry, church and tanks, in order to achieve the destruction of the two
bantam bodyguards.
This is not playing the game, and the Colonel fumes inwardly and frets
outwardly. In the intervals of pressing down the unlit tobacco in his pipe
with an oscillating thumb, he alternately pokes his king out of the corner
and pulls it back again; while his transparent impulse is to scrap the
board, wreck the ante-room and run amok. The Adjutant continues his
innocent amusement until at last the pleasure wanes. The two heroic pawns
are carried decently off, and he apologetically whispers his suspicions of
a checkmate to his commanding officer.
The Colonel brushes aside the Mess President's tinder-lighter, shatters the
mute triumph of the serried black ranks of the hostile forces with one
superb elevation of the eyebrows, smashes three matches in quick
succession, and proves that all the time his mind has been preoccupied with
weightier matters by saying after the manner of all true War Lords, "Umph."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Tube Conductor_. "PASS FURTHER DOWN THE CAR, PLEASE! PASS
FURTHER DOWN THE CAR, PLEASE!! (_In desperation_) ANY LADY OR GENTLEMAN
PRESENT KNOW THE GERMAN FOR 'PASS FURTHER DOWN THE CAR'?"]
* * * * *
Sweetness and Light.
O MATTHEW ARNOLD! you were right:
We need more Sweetness and more Light;
For till we break the brutal foe
Our sugar's short, our lights are low.
* * * * *