twardly appearing to be at
his happiest here, inwardly thanking goodness that his home was
elsewhere. Conceive his delight to discover a subaltern, fresh from
ablutions, with no satchel upon him! The subaltern, distinctly aware of
this amongst his many failings, was all for being passed by as
insignificant; the Commander was all for a scene. Everybody halted, and
the air became pregnant with possibilities.... It was a nicely
calculated speech, leading up gradually to the pointed contrast between
(_a_) overworked Commander, weighed down with responsibilities, absorbed
day and night in momentous matters of large principle, nevertheless
infallible on smallest detail and now in possession of gas helmet, one,
and (_b_) very junior subaltern, free to enjoy the open-air
irresponsible life of the trenches, yet neglecting even the few small
matters entrusted to him, without same.

"And what's more, Sir," he concluded, "I doubt very much whether, if
someone gave you a helmet now, you'd know what to do with it. Here, take
mine." (The attendant Brass-hats liked the "mine," but very discreetly
kept their emotions to themselves.)

It was not a peculiarly clean or remarkably well-packed satchel which
the trembling hand of the disgraced subaltern took from the Commander,
and the latter did not intend to let attention dwell too long upon the
grimy details of its exterior. Fixing the steel eye of conscious
rectitude on his victim, he leant slightly towards him and very
unmistakably shouted at him the one dread word, "GAS!".... Unfortunately
for the Commander the subaltern not only knew what to do next, but also
had just the physical strength remaining in his fingers to start doing
it. With the eyes of all upon him (and by this time there had gathered
round quite a nice little crowd, thoroughly conversant with the event in
progress), the subaltern opened the satchel alleged to belong to the
Commander and took from it--no, Charles, not a gas helmet, but a pair of
socks--and _such_ socks too!

Yours ever, HENRY.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SINKING.]

* * * * *

ON BELLONA'S HEM.

THE MISFIRE.

When I entered the third smoker there was, as there now always is, a
soldier in one corner.

Just as we were starting, another soldier got in and sat in the opposite
corner. The freemasonry of Khaki immediately setting to work, within two
minutes they knew all about each other'