I stop him at this point. "Couldn't we have a song here?"
"Why?" asks the Simple Soldier, glaring at me, and pulling his moustache.
"Just to lighten it up a bit," I explain. "You see 'About thirty miles' and so forth, suggests the old song of Within a Mile of Edinboro' Town."
"Don't see it," says the Virtuous Veteran, stolidly.
"Well, I'll make a note of it," and I add pleasantly, as is my way, "if it's a song, I'll make several notes of it."
"Um!" growls the Severe Soldier, and once again I defeat him in an attempt at surprising my outpost, i.e., my tumbler of cool drink. He apologises gruffly but politely, and then continues his reading.
ON WE GOES AGAIN.
He continues to read about "distances," "so many feet above sea-levels," "engineering skill," &c., &c., which I observe to him will all make capital padding for a guide-book, when I am suddenly struck by the sound of the word I had just used, viz., 'padding.'
PADDINGTON.
"By Jove!" I exclaim.