It was not a peculiarly clean or remarkably well-packed satchel which the trembling hand of the disgraced subaltern took from the Commander, and the latter did not intend to let attention dwell too long upon the grimy details of its exterior. Fixing the steel eye of conscious rectitude on his victim, he leant slightly towards him and very unmistakably shouted at him the one dread word, "Gas!".... Unfortunately for the Commander the subaltern not only knew what to do next, but also had just the physical strength remaining in his fingers to start doing it. With the eyes of all upon him (and by this time there had gathered round quite a nice little crowd, thoroughly conversant with the event in progress), the subaltern opened the satchel alleged to belong to the Commander and took from it—no, Charles, not a gas helmet, but a pair of socks—and such socks too!
Yours ever, Henry.
