Then to the soldier: 

“Hall!  You go down to Partridge & Cooper’s, at the corner of Chancery Lane and Fleet Street, and buy a sixpenny box of their ‘No. 6 Velvet’ pen-nibs.  You understand:  ‘No. 6 Velvet.’”

“Yessir.  With the bus, sir?”

“With the bus.  Here’s sixpence.”  He took a coin out of the bag, locked it, and gave the key to George.  “And keep an eye on this bag, my boy.  You will then come back and wait for us—­let me see—­outside Piccadilly Tube Station in Jermyn Street.”

“Yessir.”

The Major and George entered the North London station and proceeded to the lift.

“Tickets!” demanded the lift-man.

The Major halted and gazed at him.

“On service!” said the Major, with resentment and disdain.  “A fortnight ago you civilians were raising your hats to us.  Now you ask us for tickets!  Haven’t you grasped yet that there’s a war on?  Don’t you think you’d look better in khaki?” He showed excitement, as at every personal encounter.

The lift-man bowed his head, inarticulately muttering, and the officers passed into the lift, having created a certain amount of interest among the other passengers.  The Major was tranquillized in a moment.  They came to the surface again at Piccadilly Circus, where at the lift a similar scene occurred.

“Do you know anything about pyjamas?” said the Major.

“Well, sir—­”

“I never wear them myself.  I’m rather old-fashioned.  But I have to buy three pairs—­suits for Colonel Hullocher—­at Swan & Edgar’s.  Oh!  Bother it!  Have you any money?  I forgot to take some out of the bag.”

The Major purchased the pyjamas with George’s money, and his attitude towards the shopman during the transaction was defiant, indicating to the shopman that, though personally he, the Major, never wore pyjamas, he was an expert in pyjamas and not to be gulled.  George took the resulting parcel and the receipted bill, and they walked across to Jermyn Street, where surely the bus, with the sixpenny box of pens, was waiting for them.  It was perfectly magical.  As the vehicle swung with them into the Circus the Major exclaimed: 

“We’re getting on very well.  What do you say to some tea?”

“Certainly, sir.”

The bus, having stopped by order at the second tea-house on the left in Piccadilly, was immediately assaulted, without success, by several would-be passengers.  A policeman, outraged by the spectacle of a bus stationary at a spot where buses are absolutely forbidden to be stationary, hurried forward in fury.  But the Major, instantly excited, was ready for him.

“This motor-bus is a military vehicle on service, and I’ll thank you to mind your own business.  If you’ve any complaints to make, you’d better make them to Lord Kitchener.”

The policeman touched his hat.

“They have music here,” said the Major mildly, entering the tea-house.  “I always like music.  Makes things so much jollier, doesn’t it?”