Bertram blushed hotly in the privacy of his hut. Chest-protector! Confound the fellow’s impudence—and those giggling’ idiots. He had half a mind to put his head out and remark; “The laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns beneath a pot,” and in the same moment wiser counsels prevailed.
Thrusting a soapy face out of the window, he said, in a tone expressive more of sorrow than of anger:
“I am surprised at you, Clarence! . . . To laugh at the infirmities of your elders! . . . Is it my fault I have housemaid’s knee?”
To which Augustus, with tears in his eyes and voice, replied:
“Forgive me, Pappa. I have known trouble too. I had an Aunt with a corn. . . . She wore one. . . . Pink, like yours. . . . Poignant. . . . Searching. . . .”
This cheerful and indefatigable young gentleman had, in his rôle of Mess President, found time, after parade and kit-inspection that morning, to prepare a breakfast menu. Consulting it, Bertram discovered promise of
1. Good Works. Taken out of some animal, or animals, unknown. Perhaps Liver. Perhaps not. Looks rather poignant.
2. Shepherd’s Bush (or is it Plaid or Pie?) or Toed-in-the-Hole. Same as above, bedded down in manioc. Looks very poignant.
3. There were Sausages on Toast, but they are in bad odour, uppish, and peevish to the eye, and there is no bread.
4. Curried Bully-beef. God help us. And Dog-biscuit.
5. Arm of monkey. No ’arm in that? But—One rupee reward is offered for a missing Kavirondo baby. Answers to the name of Horatio, and cries if bitten in the stomach. . . . Searching.
“Great news,” quoth the author of this document, seating himself on the bed-frame beside Bertram and eyeing a plate of Good Works without enthusiasm. “There’s to be a General Court-Martial after breakfast. You and I and Berners. Leesey Lindsay is prosecuting a bloke for spying and acting as guide to German raiding parties—him bein’ a British subjick an’ all. . . Splendid! . . . Shall we hang him or shoot him? . . .”
“I am Provost-Marshal,” put in Vereker, “and I shall hang him. I know exactly how to hang, and am a recognised good hanger. Anyhow, no one has complained. . . . Wish we had some butter. . . .”
“Whaffor?” asked Augustus.