“Why didn’t you ask the R.T.O. where you were to go?”
“I did ask him, sir. The first thing ever I did was to ask him.”
“And what did he say?”
“What he said, sir, was ‘Go to the devil out of this.’”
The colonel checked a smile. He probably sympathised with the R.T.O.
“And what did you do then?” he asked.
“I got into the train, sir, and sure, here I am.”
That particular colonel’s temper was notoriously a little soured by long command. It was felt that the soldier had, after all, made a fair attempt to obey the orders of the R.T.O.
Another private—less innocent, I fear—caused me and a few other people some mild excitement. I was summoned to the orderly-room to answer a telephone call. I was told by some one, whose voice sounded as if he was much irritated, that he had caught the man who stole my shirt. No one, thanks to my servant’s vigilance, had stolen any shirt of mine. I said so.
“Grey flannel shirt,” said the voice, and I gathered that he was irritated afresh by my extreme stupidity. I disclaimed all knowledge of any stolen shirt, flannel or other.