_AM_ APPRECIATED."]

* * * * *

THE ROAD TO THE RHINE.

A LITTLE LOOT.

It was at the time when men still imagined that to be a pivotal man in
some way enhanced their chances of being demobilised that an abnormal
wave of acquisitiveness passed over us. Before it passed, I regret
to say, it _hovered_, chiefly on account of the prospect of a speedy
return home and the desire to take back some kind of trophy to satisfy
the still small voice of inquiry concerning papa and the Great War.

The very first day after we had arrived in the most unimportant
village imaginable (our usual luck), Roley, the fattest subaltern
on record, lurched into the room and told us of the discovery of a
wonderful trainload of abandoned Bosch material, Being a Regular
soldier, acquisitiveness runs through his whole being, of course, and
he gave us a most glowing account of the wonders to be found. "Full
of things," he cried, "coal, Bosch beds, field-guns and
souvenirs--hundreds of 'em."

I know no rabbit that could have pricked up his ears quicker than did
the pivotal men at the sound of that magic word. "Hail, Roley!" we
cried; "we who are about to be demobilised salute you!"

That evening a select conclave of super-scroungers met with great
solemnity. Beds for the men and coal for all--certainly, and _then_ we