Juvenile War Lord.. "'Ere! Someone else 'ave a go—I'm sick o' war. It ain't in reason ter expect a bloke ter be the Kaiser three days running!"
THE VINDICATION OF JIMMY.
In one corner of the school play-ground stood a small boy in deep dejection, with his hands in his pockets, his lower lip trembling slightly, whilst he strove to kick a hole in the ground with his right toe. It was Jimmy—Jimmy in his hour of trial.
He wasn't going to blub, he wasn't going to do anything.
Suddenly he stopped kicking at the ground, as he remembered that his mother had told him he must be careful of his boots now that the War was on.
He took out of his pocket a match-box, the temporary home of a large beetle—a buzzer, Jimmy called it—which had hitherto refused to eat either grass or bran or Indian corn. His gaze then wandered to a hole in his stockings, which he had mended by applying ink to the exposed part of his skin.
From the opposite side of the playground came the tumultuous noise of the calm deliberations of Form II.