By the same post I received a letter from the Adjutant of my Depôt informing me that I was not to return at the expiration of my leave, but by War Office instructions (I will spare you the Ref. No.) was to proceed instead to the Crystal Palace for immediate demobilization. (That, by the way, is part of the game of being a volunteer for the Army of Occupation.) It was Suzanne who brought the two letters into their proper correlation.
"You won't have to get a new pair of slacks now," she said.
"Bless my soul, no!" I exclaimed. "Then what ought I to do with this cheque? Send it back?"
"Certainly not," cried Suzanne as she snatched it from my wavering hand. "I've been wanting a new hat for some time."
ANOTHER COMBINE.
Bystander. "'Ow yer goin', mate?"
Gutter Merchant. "Fine! I've just amalgamated with the business next door."