THE BLANKET ASTRAY.
Now that most of us are on the point of escaping into civil life, the relentless department to whom the W.O. entrusted the stewardship of Army blankets is calling us to strict account as to our dealings with these articles.
Between us and freedom rise the accusing phantoms of blankets we signed for and failed to return, blankets we misused as carpets, curtains and table-cloths. The bright dawn of the new era is overcast by their threatening shadow.
The A.A.L.R.B.G.S.—Acting-Assistant Local Recorder of Blankets General Service, a very important Hat indeed—some time last winter paid us a visit and went away without complaint. We had specialised in cherishing Blankets G.S. For fear of loss or damage none had been issued for use, and the enthusiasm of all ranks was so warm that the men were glad to sleep without them, if only they might go and see for themselves the full tally of blankets folded correctly to a hair's-breadth and piled irreproachably and unapproachably in the stores.
Then, three days ago, arrived a chit asking us to explain a curt quotation from the report of the A.A.L.R.B.G.S., to the effect that
"There was a blanket on the table
in the store."
By a civilian this might be interpreted as a word of praise for our care of the table or for the comfortable tout ensemble of the Quartermaster-Sergeant's treasure-house; but we know better. We read it with the sensations of a householder who, after the call of a Scotland Yard official, should be invited to explain, in an otherwise satisfactory account of his visit, the sentence—
"There was a corpse in the boot