When a full-fed Major-General falls he falls heavily.
XXII
"I SPY"
I put my head into the Mess and discovered Albert Edward alone there cheating himself at Patience.
"My leave warrant has come and I'm off!" said I. "If Foch should ring up tell him he'll have to struggle along by himself for a fortnight. Cheeroh!"
"Cheeroh!" said Albert Edward. "Give my regards to Nero, Borgia and all the boys."
I shut the door upon him and took the road to Rome.
Arrived there I attempted to shed a card on the Pope, but was repulsed by a halbardier in fancy dress; visited the catacombs (by the way, in the art of catacombing we latter-day sinners have nothing to learn from the early saints. Why, at Arras in 1917 we—— Oh, well, never mind now!); kept a solemn face while bands solemnly intoned Tipperary (under the impression it was the British National Anthem); bought a bushel of mosaic brooches and several million picture postcards and acted the perfect little tripper throughout.
Then one day while stepping into a hotel lift I bumped full into Wilfrid Wilcox Wilbur, stepping forth.
You have all of you read the works of Wilfrid Wilcox Wilbur (Passion Flowers, Purple Patches, etc. Boost and Boom. 6s.); if you haven't you should, for Wilfrid is the lad to handle the soul-sob and the heart-throb and warm up cold print generally.