A Branch of the Standard Bank is being opened in Colonnade Buildings under the direction of Mr. M. D. Savory, late Manager of the Oudtshoorn Branch.
The Powerful's contingent of the Naval Brigade, consisting of twenty-nine men and four officers, left by yesterday's train for Capetown. Mr. Midshipman Lewin, who is in command, has the honour of carrying despatches.
The great want of Bloemfontein just now is some place of light recreation and refreshment to which weary soldiers and civilians can repair after the labour of the day is ended. It is premature, of course, to expect anything so pretentious as the Alhambra or Tivoli of London fame, but the resources of the capital of the Orange Free State should be at least equal to the provision and equipment of a hall where songs and various forms of light entertainment might be presented nightly. Already there is talk of an enterprising agent proceeding to Capetown with the object of retaining the necessary artistes, who may be expected here as soon as the railway communication is open to the general public; but for present purposes there is sufficient talent amongst our soldiers and sailors and the townspeople to tide over the emergency. A committee of amusement with a good man as chairman is required, and the rest, with the permission of the military authorities, should be tolerably easy. The drums and pipes of the Highland regiments continue to do valiant service in the market square, but the time is surely come when entertainment on a more ambitious programme might be contemplated.
THE PROMOTION OF BINKS.
"Know Binks? Of course. Everybody does—local major, staff something at Headquarters of 10th Division—devilish useful chap to know."
Yes, Major Binks; but three short months ago I was only young Binks of the Buffers, arriving at Blankfontein to take charge of a Transport Company; I had no experience, and no instructions, except to "lick 'em into shape," and I felt like the title of a book, "Alone in South Africa." Not quite alone after all, for I had Wopples with me; Wopples being the servant my old uncle, Major Stodger, had found for me. "He'll kill your horses, of course, and lose your kit, but he was our mess corporal in the Blazers for fourteen years, and he'll pull you through."
After asking many questions and getting no answers, I found a seething mass of mules, waggons, and blacks, which turned out to be my company, and in the midst of it was a person of evidently some importance, who turned out to be the conductor. His natural perimeter was nearly doubled by the packets of papers which bulged from every pocket, and he was addressing the crowd in a variety of bad languages when I introduced myself, not without trepidation, as his new C."C."O. His smile was reassuring and patronising. "Oh, that'll be all right, sir; we're getting along nicely—but the Major's coming round to-morrow—commands the station, he does—and wastes a lot of time. Now, if you could offer him a bit of breakfast—"
Next morning the Major rode up; he was a melancholy-looking man with an absent manner. Before I could introduce the subject he said he would not interrupt me if I were having breakfast; I begged him to join me, but he said he never could eat at that hour, but he might as well come in—perhaps he might manage a cup of tea. He managed one cup, and then another, after which he brightened up a lot and managed porridge, fried liver, curried mutton, and half a tin of jam. After one of my cigars (also selected by uncle) he rode away, remarking that he was glad to find they'd sent up somebody at last who had a grasp of things—he felt he could rely on me.
Next day I was appointed his assistant. When I reported myself he said he wanted somebody whom he could leave in the office in case he had to go out—there was no other definite job for me just then; meanwhile I might as well look after the mess. I did so, or rather Wopples did so.