"Now pour it over the top—top, boy, top!"
A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a handkerchief.
"Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!"
The B.M. smiled a smile (sickly, one).
"That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!"
"Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute."
"It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm—West!"
"The padre was right—it must be a fireguard, after all," said the Staff Captain.
"Or a s-sundial," muttered the B.M.
I believe the meteorological report was finally entered as: "Wind light to moderate (to strong), varying from East to West (via North and South)."