Nov. 10.--Lieut. True Born gave one of the regimental horses a riding-
lesson. Came home grumpy and went to bed early.
Nov. 13.--Another riding-lesson. Over-heard him asking one of the
maids whether there was such a thing as a water-bed in the house.
Nov. 17.--Complained bitterly of horse-copers. Said that his poor mount
was discovered to be suffering from saddle-soreness, broken wind,
splints, weak hocks, and two bones of the neck out of place.
Dec. 9.--7 p.m.--One of last year's billets, Private Merited, on leave
from a gunnery course, called to see me and to find out whether his old
bed had improved since last year. Left his motor-bike in the garage, and
the smell in front of the dining-room window.
8 to 12 p.m.--Sat with Private Merited, listening to Lieut. True Born on
the mistakes of Wellington.
12.5 a.m.--Rose to go to bed. Was about to turn out gas in hall when I
discovered the lieutenant standing with his face to the wall playing pat-
a-cake with it. Gave him three-parts of a tumbler of brandy. Said he
felt better and went upstairs. Arrived in his bed-room, he looked about
him carefully, and then, with a superb sweep of his left arm, swept the
best Chippendale looking-glass in the family off the dressing table and
dived face down-wards to the floor, missing death and the corner of the
chest of drawers by an inch.
12:15 a.m.--Rolled him on to his back and got his feet on the bed. They
fell off again as soon as they were cleaner than the quilt. The
lieutenant, startled by the crash, opened his eyes and climbed into bed
unaided.
12.20 a.m.--Sent Private Merited for the M.O., Captain Geranium.
12.25 a.m.--Mixed a dose of brandy and castor-oil in a tumbler. Am told
it slips down like an oyster that way--bad oyster, I should think.
Lieut. True Born jibbed. Reminded him that England expects that every
man will take his castor-oil. Reply unprintable. Apologized a moment
later. Said that his mind was wandering and that he thought he was a
colonel. Reassured him.
12.40 a.m.--Private Merited returned with the M.O. Latter nicely dressed
in musical-comedy pyjamas of ravishing hue, and great-coat, with rose-
tinted feet thrust into red morocco slippers. Held consultation and
explained my treatment. M.O. much impressed, anxious to know whether I
was a doctor. Told him "No," but that I knew all the ropes. First give
patient castor-oil, then diet him and call every day to make sure that he
doesn't like his food. After that, if he shows signs of getting well too
soon, give him a tonic. . . . M.O. stuffy.
Dec. 10.--M.O. diagnosed attack as due to something which True Born
believes to be tobacco, with which he disinfects the house, the
mess-sheds, and the streets of Berkhamsted.
Dec. 11.--True Born, shorn of thirteen pipes a day out of sixteen,
disparages the whole race of M.O.'s.
Dec. 14.--He obtains leave to attend wedding of a great-aunt and
ransacks London for a specialist who advocates strong tobacco.
Dec. 15.--He classes specialists with M.O.'s. Is surprised (and
apparently disappointed) that, so far, the breaking of the looking-glass
has brought me no ill-luck. Feel somewhat uneasy myself until glass is
repaired by local cabinet-maker.
Jan. 10, 1917.--Lieut. True Born starts to break in another horse.
Feb. 1.--Horse broken.
March 3.--Running short of tobacco, go to my billet's room and try a pipe
of his. Take all the remedies except the castor-oil.
April 4, 8.30 a.m.--Awakened by an infernal crash and discover that my
poor looking-glass is in pieces again on the floor. True Born explains
that its position, between the open door and the open window, was too
much for it. Don't believe a word of it. Shall believe to my dying day
that it burst in a frantic but hopeless attempt to tell Lieut. True Born
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
April 6.--The lieutenant watching for some sign of misfortune to me.
Says that I can't break a mirror twice without ill-luck following it.
Me!
April 9.--Lieut. True Born comes up to me with a face full of conflicting
emotions. "Your ill-luck has come at last," he says with gloomy
satisfaction. "We go under canvas on the 23rd. You are losing me!"