"See, some one is approaching," observed the Sage of Fleet Street,
whose eye-sight was better than that of his companion. And sure
enough a lively young officer at this moment put in an appearance,
and saluted.

"Glad to see you both," said he; "and, by order of the General
Commander-in-Chief, you are to make what use you please of me. I am
entirely at your service."

"Why, you speak English!" exclaimed _Mr. Punch_.

[Illustration]

"That is so!" returned the young officer in American; "and why not?
Besides I know French, Russian, German, and all the languages spoken
on your little globe, to say nothing of the dialects used by those who
inhabit the rest of the planets. It's our system. Nowadays, a man in
the Service is expected to be up in everything. If he wasn't, how on
earth could he fight, or do anything else in a satisfactory fashion?
And now let us bustle along."

"But first," put in TIME, who did not relish being silent, "will you
kindly tell us what those masses of colour are?"

[Illustration]

"Certainly. They are troops. We put them in scarlet in peace, but they
appear in their shirtsleeves the moment war's declared. Novel idea,
isn't it?"