The Cornet-Major of the B.S.R. glissaded into the trench and found himself shaking hands with a very young subaltern of the ——th ——s. [Censored.]
"Thought I recognised you," he said. "Glad to see you out here, Sir."
"That's really what I came about," said Mr. Punch. "I want your advice."
"My advice! Good Lord!... Sure you're comfortable there? Now what'll you have? Cigar or barley-sugar?" Mr. Punch accepted a cigar.
"We're all for barley-sugar ourselves just now," the subaltern went on. "Seems kiddish, but there it is."
Mr. Punch lit his cigar and proceeded to explain himself.
"I say that I have come to consult you," he began. "It seems strange, you think. I am seventy-three, and you are——"
"Twenty-two," said the subaltern. "Next November."
"And yet Seventy-three comes here to sit at the feet of Twenty-two, and for every encouraging word that Twenty-two offers him Seventy-three will say 'Thank you!'"
"Rats," said Twenty-two for a start.