They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly dug-in.
"Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning.
"——!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the vernacular). "Where's our vane?"
"It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I—"
"We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went—General, Brigade Major (enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle.
"North is—there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this is pointing—due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.
"Paralysed," said the B.M.
"Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain.
"It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants oil!" and the O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one).