"It's a queer-looking place, this Gallipoli," said Beverley.
"And a queer-looking place you'll find it, colonel," added the aide-de-camp, as we gathered round him. "You will be more given to airing your clothes than your classics, and won't be much enchanted with your quarters in Roumania. In lack of space and cleanliness, and in the liberal allowance of gnats and fleas, they are all up to Turkish regulation."
"Any society here?" asked Jocelyn, with his little affected lisp, as he caressed his incipient moustache.
The aide burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and then replied—
"Plenty, and of the most varied and original character."
"And how about the ladies?"
"Is it true that the Turks still regulate their establishments of womenkind according to the Koran?" asked the paymaster, with a grin on his long, thin Scotch face.
"Upon the system of the 4th Veteran Battalion rather," replied the aide-de-camp.
"Ah, and that——"
"Gave a wife to every private, and three to the adjutant."