"Blawn off ma back, sirr!"

"Where are your puttees?"

"Blawn off ma feet, sirr!"

"Where is your iron ration?"

"Blawn oot o' ma pooch, sirr!"

"Where is your head?"

"Blawn--I beg your pardon, sirr!"--followed by generous reissues all
round.

After a month or so our beloved regiment, once more at full strength,
with traditions and morale annealed by the fires of experience, would
take its rightful place in the forefront of "K (1)."

Such was the immediate future, as it presented itself to the wearied
but optimistic brain of Lieutenant Bobby Little. He communicated his
theories to Captain Wagstaffe.

"I wonder!" replied that experienced officer.


II

The chief penalty of doing a job of work well is that you are promptly