Hello! Hello! who's your lady friend?
Who's the little girlie by your side?
I've seen you with a girl or two,
Oh, oh, oh, I AM surprised at you!
Hello! Hello! what's your little game?
Don't you think it's time your ways to mend?
That's not the gal I saw you with at Brighton,
Oh, oh, oh, who's your lady friend?
"If it is not a rude question," I ventured, after another few moments, "did you ever see the capture of a German spy over in France, Mr. McNab?"
"Who are you getting at ... trying to pull my leg?" he demanded, with increased suspicion.
"Come, come," I laughed, "let us agree to differ about our—er—inferior spy system."
"Superior," he insisted.
I surrendered before the gleam of his eye. Fool that I had been, ever to have imagined that I could conquer McNab's steely glance!
"Superior then, if you prefer it."
McNab's eyes, which had glared with indignation, lost their fire and assumed their normal expression of calm and relentless despotism, and the red flag of agitated displeasure disappeared from his tanned face. He seized with alacrity the olive branch (also another tankard of beer) which I held out to him.
"The history of the British Army," he observed as he blew at his ale "'minds me of a married soldier's letter to his wife. The most interesting parts are all left out ... do you get me?"
McNab tilted his hat at a perilous angle on one side of his head, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.