"It's in _The Times_," I said, "and you shall read it, whether you
like it or not. It's in the place where I'm pointing my finger.
There--do you see it?"

"If you'd only take your finger away I might be able to. Thanks. My
hat! isn't it exciting? 'To be 2nd Lieutenant (tempy.) 1st Battalion,
Blankshire Regiment of Volunteers--' So it's come at last, has it?"

"Yes," I said, "it's come at last. They've recognised us."

"Well," she said, "it was about time, wasn't it? Here you've all been
form-fouring and two deeping and route-marching for two years or so,
and looking highly military in your grey-green uniforms, while the
authorities stood by and persuaded themselves you didn't exist; and at
last somebody comes along--"

"It was Lord FRENCH who came along--"

"Yes," she said, "Lord FRENCH comes along on a fine cold Sunday
morning and says to himself, 'Here are several hundred thousand men
who are panting to make themselves useful. Let's recognise them," and
from that moment you actually begin to exist. And then they bring down
your grey hairs with sorrow into the Gazette, and, instead of being a
Platoon Commander, you become a 2nd Lieutenant."

"'Tempy,'" I said; "don't forget the 'tempy.'"

"I won't," she said. "What does it mean? It sounds very irritable."