Said a captain a mile away: “Why are they
singing that? We haven’t had a mail for
a month, have we?”
An hour later the same captain said to his servant:
“Jenkins, I understand the picket have got a—got
a newspaper off a prisoner to-day. I wish you
could lay hands on it, Jenkins. Copy of the Times,
I think.”
“Yes, Sir. Copy of the Times, Sir,”
said Jenkins, without a quiver, and went forth to
make his own arrangements.
“Copy of the Times” said the blameless
Alf, from beneath his blanket. “I ain’t
a member of the Soldier’s Institoot. Go
an’ look in the reg’mental Readin’-room—Veldt
Row, Kopje Street, second turnin’ to the left
between ‘ere an’ Naauwport.”
Jenkins summarised briefly in a tense whisper the
thing that Alf Copper need not be.
“But my particular copy of the Times
is specially pro’ibited by the censor from corruptin’
the morals of the Army. Get a written order from
K. o’ K., properly countersigned, an’
I’ll think about it.”
“I’ve got all you want,”
said Jenkins. “’Urry up. I want to
’ave a squint myself.”
Something gurgled in the darkness, and Private Copper
fell back smacking his lips.
“Gawd bless my prisoner, and make me a good
boy. Amen. ’Ere you are, Jenkins.
It’s dirt cheap at a tot.”
THE NECESSITARIAN
I know not in whose hands are laid
To empty upon earth
From unsuspected ambuscade
The very Urns of Mirth:
Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise
And cheer our solemn round—
The Jest beheld with streaming eyes
And grovellings on the ground;
Who joins the flats of Time and Chance
Behind the prey preferred,
And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance
The Sacredly Absurd,
Till Laughter, voiceless through excess.
Waves mute appeal and sore,
Above the midriff’s deep distress,
For breath to laugh once more.
No creed hath dared to hail him Lord,
No raptured choirs proclaim,
And Nature’s strenuous Overword
Hath nowhere breathed his
name.
Yet, may it be, on wayside jape,
The selfsame Power bestows
The selfsame power as went to shape
His Planet or His Rose.
STEAM TACTICS
I caught sight of their faces as we came up behind
the cart in the narrow
Sussex lane; but though it was not eleven o’clock,
they were both asleep.
That the carrier was on the wrong side of the road
made no difference to his language when I rang my
bell. He said aloud of motor-cars, and specially
of steam ones, all the things which I had read in the
faces of superior coachmen. Then he pulled slantwise
across me.
There was a vociferous steam air-pump attached to
that car which could be applied at pleasure....
