quarter--influence, and that sort of thing, you know. He went down to
the coast in a carriage containing seventeen other men, but he got a
fat sleepy youth to sit on, and was passably comfortable. He crossed
over in a wobbly boat packed from cellar to attic with Red Tabs
invalided with shell shock, Blue Tabs with trench fever, and Green
Tabs with brain-fag; Mechanical Transporters in spurs and stocks, jam
merchants in revolvers and bowie-knives, Military Police festooned
with _pickelhaubes_, and here and there a furtive fighting man who had
got away by mistake, and would be recalled as soon as he landed.

The leave train rolled into Victoria late in the afternoon. Cab touts
buzzed about the Babe, but he would have none of them; he would
go afoot the better to see the sights of the village--a leisurely
sentimental pilgrimage. He had not covered one hundred yards when
a ducky little thing pranced up to him, squeaking, "Where are your
gloves, Sir?" "I always put 'em in cold storage during summer along
with my muff and boa, dear," the Babe replied pleasantly. "Moreover,
my mother doesn't like me to talk to strangers in the streets, so
ta-ta." The little creature blushed like a tea-rose and stamped its
little hoof. "Insolence!" it squeaked. "You--you go back to France by
the next boat!" and the Babe perceived to his horror that he had been
witty to an Assistant Provost-Marshal! He flung himself down on his
knees, licking the A.P.M.'s boots and crying in a loud voice that he
would be good and never do it again.

The A.P.M. pardoned the Babe (he wanted to save the polish on his
boots) on condition that he immediately purchased a pair of gloves of
the official cut and hue. The Babe did so forthwith and continued on
his way. He had not continued ten yards when another A.P.M. tripped
him up. "That cap is a disgrace, Sir!" he barked. "I know it, Sir,"