‘That record, sir, absolutely proves that this man deals in terminological inexactitudes.’
‘You mean he is a common or garden chancer?’
‘Yes, sir. The second charge is equally serious. He has an objection to soap, and loathes water like a Bolshevik.’
‘Has he no soap in his possession?’ asked a member.
‘Oh yes, sir, a small piece, which he received three years ago on enlistment. This is it:
| GINGER’S SOAP. 1915-1918. |
‘Note the size. He keeps this for kit inspections, and I understand he is to make it a family heirloom after the war.
‘Now for the third charge—“Joy-riding in a Ford.” During his leave he was seen several times in a palatial petrol tin-can, accompanied by a fair lady. The lady was holding his hand, and the car was doing a cake-walk down the road. Several roosters and pet-poodles are at present in the mortuary. Two maiden ladies demand his life, and the town council have sent in a bill for two policemen and three lamp-posts. That’s all, sir.’
‘Very serious! Very serious!’ muttered Nobby, chewing his Ole Bill moustache. ‘What about his character?’
‘He lost it at St Omer.’