“No, she hasn’t,” Ansell replied in tones of horror.  “We’ve held up the wrong car.”  He looked round.  “Good Lord!” he added softly and pulled Bucephalus into the ditch.  In the car, with a grinning Tommy at the wheel, sat two apoplectic generals and a highly explosive brigade-major.  They came alongside, and I should never be allowed to repeat what they said to us.  It seemed that by delaying them we had been hindering the day’s work of the entire Home Forces.  We were given to understand that it was only the blue bands on our arms which saved us from being court-martialled on the spot and shot by the grinning Tommy at dawn.  Then they passed on.

When our cars did appear a minute or two later we pulled meekly into the ditch to let them pass, and could find no better answer to the jeers of their occupants than a wan sickly smile apiece.

* * * * *

THE TEST OF TYPE.

(Suggested by these adjacent paragraphs in a daily paper.)

“Maj. ——.  For conspicuous gallantry and resource.  He rallied his men when the left flank was seriously threatened, and by his energy and fine example saved the situation.  He subsequently commanded his battalion with great ability.  He has displayed marked gallantry in every action in which he has taken part.”

    “A London angler, Mr. ——­, has caught a roach of 2 lb. 1 oz. in
    the Lark at Barton Mills, the largest fish of its kind landed
    from this Suffolk stream for some years.”

  Though in these times monopolized by Mars
    There’s not a day that passes but one reads—­
  Sandwiched between unprofitable “pars”
    And other wholly negligible screeds—­
  Of decorations, crosses, medals, bars,
    Bestowed for valiant and heroic deeds;
  Over these records we must often pass
  Unless we’ve got a magnifying-glass!

  But if some member of a fishing club
    In London or the provinces, renowned
  For prowess with the lob-worm or the grub,
    Should land a roach of more than half a pound,
  Then in the leading papers of the hub
    Full space for that achievement will be found,
  And clearest type and unaffected rapture
  Will signalize the epoch-making capture!

  The moral of the episode is plain: 
    If soldiers wish to petrify the nation,
  Let them—­when leave permits—­no more disdain
    To join a Roach or Perch Association,
  Cull giant gooseberries, and strive to gain
    Prizes for Blind-fold Pig Delineation. 
  Thus only—­not by cross or golden stripe—­
  Will they achieve the honour of big type.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  REPRISALS.

Competitor (in international contest). “THE BLIGHTER’S BIT ME.”

Referee. “WELL, AIN’T YER GOT NO TEETH OF YER OWN?  BOX ON.”]

* * * * *