‘No d—— guessing for me, my lad. Get it mended and shove it in your butt-trap.’
We enjoyed this immensely, and felt that General Pom-Pom could beat Tosher any day.
‘Are you married?’ he asked Billy Greens, who was always rather pale and carried a worried look.
‘No, sir.’
‘What are you in civil life?’
‘A curate, sir.’
‘Thought so! Thought so!’ he said, passing on.
We all grinned.
‘Ah! You’re a musician, aren’t you?’ he inquired of a youth with lustrous locks.
‘No, sir—a Socialist!’