THE LAST LINE.
VI.
Our uniform—or, if that is too military a word, our academical costume—is officially announced to be "grey-green," the colour of the sea at 7.30 in the morning, when you decide that you have forgotten your towel and had better have a hot bath quietly at home. I don't know how invisible we shall be as soldiers, but anchored off the Maplin Sands we should deceive anybody. Where are the Buoys of the Old Brigade? Ah, where indeed! Even as marines we should have our value.
Luckily, we have been practising amphibious warfare for some time. The camp is mostly under water, and when the "Fall-in" is sounded we do it quite easily. The "Emerge" is not so easily obeyed. But there were dried days in December, and on one of these I made a curious discovery.
We were having a field-day, and my side of the battle was advancing in sections under shell-fire over fairly flat country. Every now and then, however, we came to a small hill or group of hills. There seemed to be no human reason for it, and I suggested to my section that we were on the tract of some new kind of mole.
"No," said Jamnes, "those are bunkers."
We looked at each anxiously and tapped our foreheads.
"It's a golf-course," he persisted.
I could not allow dangerous talk of this kind to go on.
"Silence in the ranks," I said sternly.
A little later, when we were halted, an old, old man, the Nestor of the section, asked if he might speak to me.
"Certainly, my lad," I said.
"I think he du be right," he said, indicating James; "I've heerd tell on 'un. Great-great-grandfayther used to play."
Another man said that he had seen an old print of the game in a shop, but he thought it was called Ludo.
And then, in a most curious way, I had the sudden feeling that I myself had played the game in some previous existence—when I was a king in Babylon, perhaps, and James was a Christian caddie. It was most odd. When we got back to camp, I spoke to him about it.
"On Boxing Day, James," I whispered, "one might pursue one's researched in this matter. I should like to find out the trush about it. We might meet at———h'r'm! To the left, to two paces, ex-tend!" I added this loudly for the benefit of our platoon commanded who was passing, and James (who in ordinary life extends two paces to the front) withdrew slowly into the darkness.
I won't refer to what happened on Boxing Day; one does not talk about these things. But I must tell you of its unfortunate sequel.
Last week, in the course of a route-march, we were suddenly turned on to distance-judging. I had never done this before, and a remote and lonely tree, half-hidden in the mist, conveyed nothing definite to me.
"What do you think?" I asked James.
"A drive and a mashie, about."
"S'sh," I said warningly. However, I determined to act on the suggestion. Remembering Boxing Day I allowed eighty yards for James's drive, and thirty-five for a mashie off the socket. Total, 115. It looked more, but the mist was deceptive. However, when the results were read out, the distance was given as 385 yards, and James, if you please, had said 350!
Let us leave this painful subject and turn to signalling. We are getting a little more proficient. Every message we sent now starts properly with prefix, service instructions, code time, and so on, and the message itself gets in as many hyphens, horizontal lines, fractions and inverted commas as possible. Here, for instance, is the beginning of a thrilling message (sent to the Editor of The Times) which I was receiving last Sunday.
"Fore-warned being fore-armed Lieut. Z. SMITHSON, 21st Foot on the Przemysl-Rzeszow-Olkusz road, with £3 9s. 7 1/2 d in his pocket (interest on 5 1/2 % DEBENTURES at 97—brokerage 1/8 th) proceeded at 9.25 P.M. to———"
At this point the "Fall-in" sounded and we had to stop. I never heard what happened to Lieut. Smithson. My own theory is that he murdered Emma and put the blame on Lt.-Col. St. George, D.S.O., who only had three-and-a-half per cents. and had never seen the girl before. Perhaps the matter will be cleared up when the War is over.
But it was a sad blow to us to be told in a lecture that same afternoon that despatch-riding has proved to be much more useful than signalling at the Front. It had an immediate effect on James, and the advertisement in The Times beginning "Wanted to Exchange a pair of blue-and-white silk flags (new) for motor-bicycle," is generally supposed to be his.
"All all the time I've spent on signalling has been wasted," he said indignantly.
"Not wasted, James. Your silhouette as you signalled an 'i' has made many a wet day bright. Anyway, it's no excuse for not coming to bayonet drill. That won't be wasted."
James made some absurd excuse about wanting to improve his shooting first.
"One is more independent with the bayonet," I assured him. "The Government doesn't like us as it is, and it's not going to waste much ammunition on us. But once you've tied the carving-knife on to the end of your umbrella, there are are."
"Well, I'll think about it," said James.
But I have heard since that he had already attended one class; and that in the middle of it James the solicitor advised James the soldier not to proceed further with the matter.
"Your time," said James the solicitor, "will be better spent on the range—where you can lie down."
And James the soldier made it so.
DIPLOMACY.
[What would happen if we modelled our business affairs on the Yellow Book, Blue Book, White Book, Orange Book and Grey Book]
1. From Alfred Midgely, Office Manager, to James Henry Bullivant (Managing Director of Bullivants, Limited, Drysalters), temporarily abroad.
I hear from an absolutely trustworthy source that our town traveller, Mr. Herbert Blenkins, is thinking of giving notice. I have the honour to suggest that this merits the immediate attention of Your Excellency.
2. From J. H. B. to A. M.
Blenkins cannot be allowed to leave at this juncture. You should make a démarche towards the Office Boy, endeavour to ascertain from him whether pourparlers might not be opened with the Senior Typist in the direction of her using her influence with the Book-keeper to learn whether Blenkins' purpose is in the nature of an ultimatum or a ballon d'essai.
3. From A. M. to J. H. B.
Mr. Blenkins has presented his note. I have the honour to enclose a copy. The Office Boy is absent for a few days attending the obsequies of his grand-mother. I have telegraphed to his home in the sense of your despatch. No reply has come, and I have the honour to await Your Excellency's further orders.
4. From J. H. B. to A. M.
It is imperative that there should be no delay in this matter. You should
