III.
General Pom-Pom came to our school one day. He went through the same performance. Even Ginger borrowed my Vinolia to have a wash. Pom-Pom stumped on to the parade in a way that shook the earth, looked at us very keenly, and muttered, ‘Good stuff! Good stuff!’
One of his ideas was that a company officer must know the name of every man in his company. While he was inspecting our company he arrived at me.
‘What’s this man’s name?’ he asked Captain Bloggs.
‘Eh? Smith, sir.’
‘Is that right?’ he inquired of me.
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied with emphasis. I wouldn’t have let our company officer down for worlds. After all, it is a good deed to keep an old general happy.
‘Where’s your pull-through?’ he asked Tosher.
‘I guess it’s broken, general.’
‘No d—— guessing for me, my lad. Get it mended and shove it in your butt-trap.’
We enjoyed this immensely, and felt that General Pom-Pom could beat Tosher any day.
‘Are you married?’ he asked Billy Greens, who was always rather pale and carried a worried look.
‘No, sir.’
‘What are you in civil life?’
‘A curate, sir.’
‘Thought so! Thought so!’ he said, passing on.
We all grinned.
‘Ah! You’re a musician, aren’t you?’ he inquired of a youth with lustrous locks.
‘No, sir—a Socialist!’
‘And you’re fighting?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What for?’
‘To destroy militarism.’
‘Oh!’ ... The general hurried away.
After the inspection he gave us a few words. Not much intellectual food, but a lot about the bayonet.
‘At ‘em when you see ‘em come. Give it ‘em hot. The short jab in the chin, or the smart thrust in the paunch. They loathe it! They’re afraid of it! The bayonet will win the war,’ he concluded.
On the whole we enjoyed his visit, and agreed that General Pom-Pom was good fun, kind-hearted, loyal, intensely patriotic—but not the man to win the war.