We strolled away from the great white statue of the Widow, with sceptre, orb, and crown, that looked toward the city, and regained the common, where the Guard battalion walked with the female of its species and the children of all its relatives. At sight of the officers the uniforms began to detach themselves and gather in companies. A Board School corps was moving off the ground, headed by its drums and fifes, which it assisted with song. As we drew nearer we caught the words, for they were launched with intention:—
’Oo is it mashes the country nurse?
The Guardsman!
’Oo is it takes the lydy’s purse?
The Guardsman!
Calls for a drink, and a mild cigar,
Batters a sovereign down on the bar,
Collars the change and says “Ta-ta!”
The Guardsman!
“Why, that’s one of old Jemmy Fawne’s songs. I haven’t heard it in ages,” I began.
“Little devils!” said Pigeon. “Speshul! Extra speshul! Sports Edition!” a newsboy cried. “’Ere y’are, Captain. Defeat o’ the Guard!”
“I’ll buy a copy,” said the Boy, as Pigeon blushed wrathfully. “I must, to see how the Dove lost his mounted company.” He unfolded the flapping sheet and we crowded round it.
“‘Complete Rout of the Guard,’” he read. “‘Too Narrow a Front.’ That’s one for you, Vee! ‘Attack Anticipated by Mr. Levitt, B. A.’ Aha! ‘The Schools Stand Fast.’”
“Here’s another version,” said Kyd, waving a tinted sheet. “‘To your tents, O Israel! The Hebrew Schools stop the Mounted Troops.’ Pij, were you scuppered by Jewboys?”
“‘Umpires Decide all Four Guns Lost,’” Bayley went on. “By Jove, there’ll have to be an inquiry into this regrettable incident, Vee!”
“I’ll never try to amuse the kids again,” said the baited Verschoyle. “Children and newspapers are low things…. And I was hit on the nose by a wad, too! They oughtn’t to be allowed blank ammunition!”
So we leaned against the railings in the warm twilight haze while the battalion, silently as a shadow, formed up behind us ready to be taken over. The heat, the hum of the great city, as it might have been the hum of a camped army, the creaking of the belts, and the well-known faces bent above them, brought back to me the memory of another evening, years ago, when Verschoyle and I waited for news of guns missing in no sham fight.