Dear Mr. Punch,—How's this? I asked a native what he thought of the War. On being told which war, he replied, "Eh, mon, ye ken, but they've got a gran'——"
At this point Mr. Punch rose from his chair and began to pace the room restlessly.
"There must be more in life than this," he said to himself again and again; "this can't be all."
He looked at his watch.
"Yes," he murmured, "that's it. I shall just have time."
Hastily donning the military overcoat of an Honorary Cornet-Major of the Bouverie Street Roughriders, he left for the Front.
Mud, and then again mud, and then very much more mud.
"Halt! Who goes there?" "Friend," said Mr. Punch hopefully. "It's Mr. Punch," said a cheerful voice. "Come in."