office is hung, like a studio in one of Mr. GEORGE MORROW'S pictures,
with diagrams of circles and triangles and crosses and straight lines.
The Higher Command, being a man of like passions with ourselves,
has just finished tinned Oxford marmalade and a cigarette. He heads
for the "IN" basket on his desk and takes from it the "Arrivals and
Departures" paper. "Ha!" says he to the lady secretary, "I see six
new divisions landed yesterday." He pauses. Outside there is no sound
to be heard save the loud and continuous crash of the sentry's hand
against his rifle as he salutes the passing A.D.C.'s. "What about
signs?" says the Higher Command. The lady secretary says nothing. She
floods the carburettor of the typewriter preparatory to thumping out
"Ref. attached correspondence" on it.

The Higher Command stares at the diagrams on the wall. He is feeling
strangely light-hearted this morning. He has won five francs at bridge
the night before from the D.A.D.M.O. A.D.G.S. And mere circles and
squares have somehow lost their savour for him. He plunges. "What
about a lion?" he says.

The lady secretary opens the throttle and plays a few bars on the
"cap." key.

"A red lion?" says the Higher Command seductively.

"It has already been done," says the lady secretary coldly.

"Who by--I mean by whom?" inquires the H.C. indignantly.

"By the Deputy Assistant Director of Higher Commands, when you were
on leave last week," she tells him.