und Wankin's feet tucked
under it--Wankin's feet in stockinged soles. The major was justly
indignant. "One step to the front, left turn," he roared. "March in
front of every rank in the battalion and see what you think of it!"

With stockinged feet, cold, but still wearing an inscrutable smile of
impudence, Wankin paraded in front of a thousand grinning faces and in
due course got back to his kit and beside the sarcastic major.

"What do you think of it?" asked the latter.

"I don't think much of it, sir," Wankin replied. "It's the dirtiest
regiment I ever inspected."

Wankin was sometimes unlucky; fortune refused to favour him when he
took up the work of picket on the road between St. Albans and London.
No unit of his regiment is supposed to go more than two miles
beyond St. Albans without a written permit, and guards are placed at
different points of the two-mile radius to intercept the regimental
rakes whose feet are inclined to roving. Wankin learned that the
London road was not to be guarded on a certain Sunday. The regiment
was to parade for a long route-march, and all units were to be in
attendance. Wankin pondered over things for a moment, girt on his belt
and sword and took up his position on the London road within a hundred
yards of a wayside public-house. At this tavern a traveller from St.
Albans may obtain a drink on a Sabbath day.

Soldiers, like most mortals, are sometimes dry and like to drink;
Wankin was often dry and Wankin had seldom much money to spend. The
first soldier who came out from the town wanted to get to the tavern.

"Can't pass here!" the mock-picket told him.

"But I'm dry and I've a cold that catches me awful in the throat."

"Them colds are dangerous," Wankin remarked in a contemplative voice,
tinged with compassion. "Used to have them bad myself an' I feel one
coming on. I think gin, same as they have in the trenches, is the
stuff to put a cold away. But I'm on the rocks."

"If you'll let me through I'll stand on my hands."

"It's risky," said Wankin, then in a brave burst of bravado he said,
"Damn it all! I'll let you go by. It's hard to stew dry so near the
bar!" An hour later the young man set off towards home, and on his way
he met two of his comrades-in-arms on the road.

"Going to ---- pub?" he inquired.

"Going to see that no one does go near it," was the answer. "Picket
duty for the rest of the day, we are."

"But Wankin--"

"What?"

The young man explained,