Life can be very difficult when you have only one uniform, and that an Indian summer one. I realised the other day that the dreaded hour had arrived when mine must be purified. Accordingly I gave Mahadoo instructions to wash it, and went into the office in pyjamas. So far so good. An hour later came an order from the D.A.Q.M.G. that I was to go into the town to cash a cheque. My uniform lay on the grass outside the tent, clean but wet. I was a soldier. I must obey orders unquestioningly. What was to be done?
Well, I pondered; it is a soldier's business unflinchingly to brave danger and hardship. I must go into the town in pyjamas and run stolidly the gauntlet of curious glances and invidious remarks. The bank lay in the centre of the European quarter. Very well, I must do my duty nevertheless. I was a soldier.
So I wrung out my uniform, changed into it and caught a severe cold.
I suppose they don't give V.C.'s till you have actually figured on the battlefield.
Yours ever,
One of the Punch Brigade.
CONVERSATIONS OF THE MOMENT.
"Why is everybody making such a fuss with that rather ordinary-looking little person?"
"My dear! She has a cellar."