The Pessimist snorted.
"I wouldn't miss 'em none if we didn't," he stated flatly. "It's my belief they'll be so sick of the sight and stink of soldiers that they'll disband the bloomin' army."
"Always s'posin' there's any army left to disband," volunteered Hathi in the soft even tones of the philosopher.
"One can't but 'ope," said the Optimist, producing a square packet from an inner pocket and proceeding to unwrap it. "'Ope and smoke is all the army 'as to feed on these days."
"'Ullo!" broke from the Pessimist, as the packet revealed cigarettes; "where d'ye raise that, Rooseveldt?"
"These 'ere," returned the fortunate possessor, "was give to me by 'oo might be called a member of the yaller Fair Sex and I've 'ad 'em treasured in oilskin the best part of a year waiting for this moment."
"An' we'll 'ope for 'ooever was with you at the moment," suggested the Pessimist.
His companion shook his head sadly.
"I ain't allowed the privilege of sharin' wi' you, matey," he said, "though with a generous nature like mine the situation goes crool 'ard. Fact is, I took a oath to smoke these with me solitary self on the first day I set foot on the 'ome shores—always s'posin' I 'ad a foot left to set on 'em."
"That sort of oath is 'ated in 'eaven," said the Pessimist, incredulous.