wall of his pig-sty, his happy hunting prospects shot to smithereens,
arguing the position out with the terrier. He must attend to this
war, that was clear, but need he necessarily go back to the salt sea?
Couldn't he do his bit in some other service? What about the Cavalry?
That would mean galloping about Europe on a jolly old gee, shouting
"Hurrah!" and cutlassing the foot-passengers. A merry life, combining
all the glories of fox-hunting with only twenty-five per cent. of its
safety--according to _Jorrocks_.

What about the Cavalry, then? The terrier semaphored complete
approbation with its tail stump and even the pig made enthusiastic
noises.

A month later MacTavish turned up in a Reserve Regiment of Cavalry at
the Curragh as a "young officer." The Riding-Master treated his case
as no more hopeless than anybody else's and MacTavish was making
average progress until one evening in the anteroom he favoured the
company with a few well-spiced Naval reminiscences.

Next morning the Riding-Master was convulsed with merriment at the
mere sight of him, addressed him variously as Jellicoe, Captain
Kidd and Sinbad, and, after first warning MacTavish not to imagine
he was ashore at Port Said riding the favourite in a donkey Derby,
translated all his instructions into nautical language. For instance:
"Right rein--haul the starboard yoke line; gallop--full steam ahead;
halt--cast anchor; dismount--abandon ship," and so forth, giving his
delicate and fanciful sense of humour full play and evoking roars
of laughter from the whole house. It did not take MacTavish long to
realise that, no matter what he said, he would never again be taken
seriously in that place; he was, in fact, the world's stock joke, a