Chaucer was
smoking outside my pet hut talking to a couple of his subalterns, and
a string of men was lined up beside the field kitchen for tea. Close
by, the batman, recovered from his illness, was putting a fishing-rod
together, and one of the subalterns blew his nose on a gaudy
handkerchief which I recognised at once.
I went straight back and told the Town Major of Ripilly that one of
the new divisional huts was being occupied by the Sappers. It wasn't
cricket, but it was all I could do.
"That's all right," he said. "Chaucer's acting as divisional R.E. He's
entitled to one hut. He told me he had been arranging for you to erect
it for him."
* * * * *
[Illustration: LIFE'S DIFFICULTIES.
_Mother_. "WHY, WHAT'S THE MATTER, DARLING?"
_Small daughter (tearfully)_. "OH, MUMS, I DO SO WANT TO GIVE THIS
WORM TO MY HEN."
_Mother_. "THEN WHY DON'T YOU?"
_Small daughter (with renewed wails)_. " C-COS I'M SO AFRAID THE WORM
WON'T LIKE IT."]
* * * * *
OUR PESSIMISTS.
"Applications are invited from properly qualified persons for
the position of Medical Officer of Health.
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