l terms. He then turned to the officer he was addressing and
politely offered him the kind of delicacy he thought would blend best
with the matter in hand.

And then Chockchaw arrived. It began by letting the G.S.O.3 down
badly the first day. All unsuspicious of its properties he rang up a
Division, popped a piece into his mouth and waited. In due time the
call came through, but no word could he utter. "Chockchaw lockjaw" had
set in. Only a horrible sound like the squelching of ten gum-boots in
the mud reached the indignant Staff at the other end. After a minute's
monologue they rang off in disgust.

Yet in spite of all difficulties the vogue of Chockchaw swept through
the Corps. It is such a ripe, rich, full-flavoured irresistible
concoction. Disadvantages there are, of course, but, on the other
hand, if you want to be quiet, it is easy to lure the unsuspecting
intruder on to Chockchaw and leave it at that. After vain efforts the
poor fellow usually creeps away like a cat with too big a bone and
chews himself back to speech round the corner. He seldom returns, and
if he does--there is always more Chockchaw. Should he refuse it this
time you can take a piece yourself and save the trouble of answering,
anyway.

Chockchaw entailed more perilous chances than at first appeared
probable. Indeed at one time it looked like seriously impeding the
course of final victory.

On a certain brown November day the G.S.O.2 suddenly jumped up from
his chair, ran to the Canteen cupboard, popped a piece of Chockchaw
into his mouth (because he had a difficult March Table to make out and
needed sustenance) and fell to work whistling like an ordinary human
being (who cannot whistle). I.O. (not the gadfly, but the Intelligence
Officer) dropped in with his usual list of suspected hostile
emplacements. He took Chockchaw in case he was asked pertinent
questions. He has to be _so_ careful what he gives away unofficially.
He knows so _much_. Germans try to steal his summaries to find out
what their own intentions really are. The A.D.C. dropped in for his
usual morning chat and Chockchaw. The Staff Officer R.A. (S.O.R.A.),
that inveterate sweet-guzzler, also dropped in.

"Hullo, what are you fellows munching?" asked the General, coming in
muddied all over. "Give me a bit; I've had no breakfast. What's the
news, Intelligence?" (No answer) "Is that Move Order done, by the
way?" (No answer.) "Why, what the--Good Lord, I'm _stuck_! What
stuff is