I stop him at this point. "Couldn't we have a song here?"

"Why?" asks the Simple Soldier, glaring at me, and pulling his
moustache.

"Just to lighten it up a bit," I explain. "You see 'About thirty
miles' and so forth, suggests the old song of _Within a Mile of
Edinboro' Town_."

"Don't see it," says the Virtuous Veteran, stolidly.

"Well, I'll make a note of it," and I add pleasantly, as is my way,
"if it's a song, I'll make _several notes_ of it."

"Um!" growls the Severe Soldier, and once again I defeat him in an
attempt at surprising my outpost, i.e., my tumbler of cool drink. He
apologises gruffly but politely, and then continues his reading.

ON WE GOES AGAIN.

He continues to read about "_distances," "so many feet above
sea-levels," "engineering skill_," &c., &c., which I observe to him
will all make capital padding for a guide-book, when I am suddenly
struck by the sound of the word I had just used, _viz._, 'padding.'

PADDINGTON.

"By Jove!" I exclaim.