They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly
dug-in.

* * * * *

"Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning.

"----!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the
vernacular). "Where's our vane?"

"It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I--"

"We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went--General, Brigade Major
(enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright
and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle.

"North is--there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this
is pointing--due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He
touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.

"Paralysed," said the B.M.

"Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain.

"It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants _oil_!" and the
O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one).

"Now pour it over the top--top, boy, top!"

A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a