“That’s the idea,” replied Captain Hall, and, in a few minutes, Bertram’s camp-bed was erected and furnished with bedding and mosquito net, his washhand-stand was set up, and his canvas bucket filled with water. Not until everything possible had been done for his master’s comfort did Ali disappear to that mysterious spot whereunto native servants repair beyond the ken of the master-folk, when in need of food, leisure and relaxation.
Having washed, eaten and slept, Bertram declared himself “a better and wiser man,” and asked Hall if he might explore the Camp, its wonders to admire. “Oh, yes,” said Hall, “but don’t go into the gambling dens, boozing-kens, dancing-saloons and faro tents, to squander your money, time and health.”
“Are there any?” asked Bertram, in wide-eyed astonishment.
“No,” replied Hall.
Bertram wished people would not be so fond of exercising their humour at his expense. He wondered why it was that he was always something of a butt. It could not be that he was an absolute fool, or he would not have been a Scholar of Balliol. He sighed. Could one be a Scholar of Balliol and a fool? . . .
“You might look in on the General, though,” continued Hall, “and be chatty. . . . It’s a very lonely life, y’know, a General’s. I’m always sorry for the poor old beggars. Yes—he’d be awfully glad to see you. . . . Ask you to call him Willie before you’d been there a couple of hours, I expect.”
“D’you mean I ought to call on the General formally?” asked Bertram, who knew that Hall was “ragging” again, as soon as he introduced the “Willie” touch.
“Oh, don’t be too formal,” was the reply. “Be matey and cosy with him. . . . I don’t suppose he’s had a really heart-to-heart chat with a subaltern about the things that really matter—the Empire (the Leicester Square one, I mean); Ciro’s; the girls; George Robey, George Graves, Mr. Bottomley, Mrs. Pankhurst and the other great comedians—since I dunno-when. He’d love to buck about what’s doing in town, with you, y’know. . . .”
Bertram sighed again. It was no good. Everybody pulled his leg and seemed to sum him up in two minutes as the sort of green ass who’d believe anything he was told, and do anything that was suggested.
“I say, Hall,” he said suddenly, “I’m a civilian, y’know, and a bit of a fool, too, no doubt. I am absolutely ignorant of all military matters, particularly those of etiquette. I am going to ask you things, since you are Adjutant of the corps I’m with. If you score off me, I think it’ll be rather a cheap triumph and an inglorious victory, don’t you? . . . I’m not a bumptious and conceited ass, mind—only an ignorant one, who fully admits it, and asks for help. . . .”