“The cooking-pots, sir,” replied Bertram, blushing as the other officers eyed him critically and with half-smiles at the Colonel’s humour. Bertram felt, a little cynically, that such wit from an officer of their own rank would not have seemed so pleasingly humorous to some of these gentlemen, and that, moreover, he had again discovered a Military Maxim on his own account. The value and humorousness of any witty remark made by any person in military uniform is in inverse ratio to the rank and seniority of the individual to whom it is made. In other words, a Colonel must smile at a General’s joke, a Major must grin broadly, a Captain laugh appreciatively, a Subaltern giggle right heartily, a Warrant Officer or N.C.O. explode into roars of laughter, and a private soldier roll helpless upon the ground in spasms and convulsions of helpless mirth.
Hearing a distinct snigger from the end of the table, Bertram glanced in that direction, said to himself, “You’re a second-lieutenant, by your appreciative giggle,” and encountered the sneering stare of a vacant-faced youth whom he heartily disliked on sight.
“Wants the cooking-pots back, but not the men, eh?” observed the Colonel, and, turning to the officer who sat at his left hand, a tall, handsome man with a well-bred, pleasant, dark face, who was Adjutant of the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth, added:
“Better go and see if there’s good reason for his not wanting them back, Hall. . . . Colonel Frost’s a good man at selling a horse—perhaps he’s sold us a pup. . . .”
More giggles from the vacant faced youth as Captain Hall arose and went out of the shed of grass and sticks, thatched on a framework of posts, which was the Officers’ Mess of the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth Regiment.
Feeling shy and nervous, albeit most thankful to be among senior officers who would henceforth relieve him of the lonely responsibility he had found so trying and burdensome, Bertram seized the opportunity of the Adjutant’s departure to escape, and followed that officer to where the Hundred awaited the order to dismiss.
“Brought a tent?” asked Captain Hall, as they went along.
“No,” replied Bertram. “Ought I to have done so?”
“If you value your comfort on these picnics,” was the answer. “You’ll find it a bit damp o’ nights when it rains, in one of these grass huts. . . . You can pig in with me to-night, and we’ll set a party of Kavirondo to build you a banda to-morrow if you’re staying on here.”
“Thanks awfully,” acknowledged Bertram. “Am I likely to go on somewhere else, though?”