catching?"

The Adjutant hesitated for the fraction of a second.

"Well, Sir," he said, "I thought of taking the 9.5."

"I see," said the C.O. "Right-o. You won't be away longer than forty-eight
hours, I suppose?"

"Oh, no," said the Adjutant. "That'll do well, Sir."

A brief astonished silence followed the C.O.'s departure, a silence broken
by the excited tones of the Stunt Pilot.

"The 9.5?" he cried. "Are you going to _London_?"

The Adjutant lit a cigarette with some deliberation.

"Only just for forty-eight hours," he remarked.

"Forty-eight hours!" gasped the indignant Pilot; then, raising his voice to
surmount the din, "Forty-eight hours' leave in London, and you've just been
pouring out hot air about--"

"_Leave?_" interrupted the Adjutant, in pained surprise. "What d'you mean
by leave? I'm going on _duty_."

A chorus of derisive laughter greeted the announcement. "Duty?" echoed the
Stunt Pilot bitterly. "_What_ duty?"

The Adjutant took another furl in his bath-towel.

"If you really must know," he said composedly, "I'm going to buy a
vacuum-cleaner for the Mess."

"You infernal old wangler!" cried the outraged Pilot, when at last he was
able to make himself heard. "Of course it takes forty-eight hours to buy a
vacuum-cleaner, doesn't it?"

"As a matter of fact," said the Adjutant solemnly, "my whole experience of
vacuum-cleaners leads me to the conviction that you have to look at a great
many of them before you can pick a really good one." He glanced round for
his clothes. "And now if you fellows will get on with your baths, I've got
an air mechanic coming in a minute or two to cut my hair. I expect I shall
be far too busy in town for the next two days to have any time to waste on
barbers."

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Farmer_ (_to "land-lady"_). "HI, MISSIE, WHAT BE YE DOIN'
WI TRACE-HORSE BEHIND, AND A LOAD LIKE THAT?"

"_Land-lady._" "OH, WELL, YOU SEE, WHEN HE WAS IN FRONT HE WAS ALWAYS
TURNING ROUND WRONG WAY ON, SO I JUST PUT HIM BEHIND TO HELP UP HILLS, LIKE
THE RAILWAY ENGINES."]

* * * * *

GENERAL POST.

Everything was just as usual. I caught my tram at the corner of the street.
It was the six o'clock car--I noticed the usual evening crowd, and they
were all as bored and cross and frigid as usual.

The old gentleman of the whiskers was, as usual, reading his evening paper.
He looked personally affronted as I sat