If we hear of a small flat girl we will send her along; but this shaped
figure is rather out of fashion just now.

* * * * *

THE SUPER-PIPE.

When Jackson first joined the jolly old B.E.F. he smoked a pipe. He
carried it anyhow. Loose in his pocket, mind you. A pipe-bowl at his
pocket's brim a simple pipe-bowl was to him, and it was nothing more. Of
course no decent B.E.F. mess could stand that. Jackson was told that a
pipe was _anathema maranatha_, which is Greek for _no bon._

"What will I smoke then?" said Jackson, who was no Englishman. We waited
for the Intelligence Officer to reply. We knew him. The Intelligence
Officer said nothing. He drew something from his pocket. It was a parcel
wrapped in cloth-of-gold. He removed the cloth-of-gold and there was
discovered a casket, which he unlocked with a key attached to his
identity disc. Inside the casket was a padlocked box, which he opened
with a key attached by gold wire to his advance pay-book. Inside the box
was a roll of silk. To cut it all short, he unwound puttee after puttee
of careful wrapping till he reached a chamois-leather chrysalis, which
he handled with extreme reverence, and from this he drew something with
gentle fingers, and set it on the table-cloth before the goggle-eyed
Jackson.

"A pipe," said Jackson.

There was a shriek of horror. The Intelligence Officer fainted. Here was
wanton sacrilege.