"The Major described the place, and the interview ended, and we walked back to Laughton's quarters."
"The Board assembled, and briefly, the result of their deliberations was to find that the bay gelding Radnor was discovered dead in his stall, the certified cause of death being fatty degeneration of the heart."
"Yes, that's all very fine and large, but how the——? what the——? when the——!!!" broke in a Babel of voices.
"Hold on, boys, and you shall know one or two things which the Board didn't know. Picture a scene in the barrack yard like this: a dark night, moon only showing in fitful gleams now and then; a trolly with a couple of horses; four stalwart Tommies and a sergeant-major seated on the trolly; it rattles out of the barrack square and over some five miles or so of road to the heath where the hero of the day breathed his last. The trolly is drawn up on to the grass, and after a few minutes' search the Sergeant-Major discovers the corpus delicti; with much exertion it is hauled up on to the trolly, and the return journey commences.
"Just before the witching hour of midnight 'when sentries yawn and Colonels go to bed'—Shakespeare freely transposed, boys, this—enter the trolly to the stable yard again. The dead horse is hoisted out, put in its stall, and the head-collar most carefully adjusted ('in case he should get loose,' observed one Tommy to another, with an unholy grin).
"All the actors in the little drama retire to imbibe liquid sustenance 'stood' by an invisible donor—peace reigns again all around the barrack square, and——and that's the end. Waiter, bring me a whiskey and soda, and some matches."
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.