KISMET.
Those old comrades, Sergeant Kippy and Gunner Toady, stood on the steps of the Convalescent Home and regarded the peaceful country-side which, in South Devon, is a sedative even in February.
Gunner Toady had come over for the day, and Kippy, as an inhabitant of the Home, had been exercising his prerogative of showing a guest over the estate. During the great advance which proved to be the expiring effort of the Hun, the Gunner had acquired a shortened leg, which still caused him to revolt against sustained physical exertion.
He leant upon his stick and listened while Kippy the indefatigable drew up a programme of a further tour to some outlying buildings.
"And you 'aven't seen the melin-'ouse," concluded that worthy, enthusiastically waving his remaining arm in the direction of a far shrubbery.
"Melin-'ouses in Febuary is lugoobrious," said the Gunner; "we'll remain at the chatoo."
Kippy sat down on the top step.
"Curious," he said, "to think there ain't no war on. Makes you feel idle. Remember that day at Coolomeers (Coulommiers), when we first got interdooced?" The Gunner nodded. "'Bout a thousand years ago that was, an' not 'alf a beano—'orse, foot and guns; no stinks, no blinkin' fireworks and old VON KLUCK gettin' 'ome pronto."
"Yes," his companion said slowly, as he lowered himself to sit beside Kippy, "that was September '14. I took my first knockout there, an' then clicked with you again in Southmead 'Ospital at Bristol."
"An'," Kippy took up the tale, "we come together agen at the end o' '15 in the old salient at Wipers, an' in '16 we was foregathered on the Somme. That's where I got my first dose of Fritz's gas. Put me in Blighty three months, that did; an' I won the ten-stone clock-golf putting championship of 'Ereford."
"Yes," said the Gunner ruminatively, "we've had to handle all sorts in this show; wy, I've played a game called Badminton with a real princess a-jumpin' about t'other side of the net. O' course it ain't discipline."
"Well," said Kippy, "I got two years' service before the War. That makes six an' a bit; and next month I shall 'ave my Mark 1919 patent arm complete with all the latest developments and get into civvies. Then what-o for a job o' paper-'anging."
Gunner Toady gave a slight start, but at once passed into a state of deep reflection. After a protracted pause he delivered his mature judgment. "'Course," he said slowly, "I believe in wot them Mahomets call Kismet. No gettin' away from it—"
"Oo's Kismet?" interrupted Kippy.
"It's me and you gettin' mixed up so intimate over 'arf o' France and the 'ole o' Flanders. Like two needles in a blinkin' 'aystack clickin' every time—an' 'taint as if the Gunners dossed down reglar with the Line either. An' now you talks about paper-'anging."
Gunner Toady paused impressively and continued, "Now you'd 'ardly believe it, but before I joined the reg'ment in '09 I was a master-plasterer workin' in Fulham."
"Lumme!" exclaimed Kippy, "wy, I was at Putney then, and I only 'eard the other day that there's a nice little apray-lar-gur connection to be worked up at Walham Green. 'Ow about callin' ourselves 'Messrs. Toady and Kippy, Decorators'?'"
"That's what it means," said the senior partner. "It's Kismet right enough, and there ain't no gettin' away from it."
"And we might add," said Kippy, with a touch of inspiration—"we might add, 'Late Contractors to His Majesty's Goverment.'"
"HOW WAS IT YOU NEVER LET YOUR MOTHER KNOW YOU'D WON THE V.C.?"
"IT WASNA MA TURRN TAE WRITE."
"Wanted, by middle-aged Lady, position of trust, Housekeeper, Companion, widower, lady, priest."—Irish Paper.
We suppose it is all right, but a hasty reader might well take it for another sex problem.