The Makings-Up Of Nobby Clark-Vol. 1

An RGL First Edition, 2025
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Twelve stories published in the weekly Ideas,
Hulton & Co., London, 14 July-29 Sep 1909

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Roy Glashan's Library, 2025
Version Date: 2025-MM-DD

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BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE

Between 1904 and 1918 Edgar Wallace wrote over 200 mostly humorous sketches about life in the British Army relating the escapades and adventures of privates Smith (Smithy), Nobby Clark, Spud Murphy and their comrades-in-arms. A character called Smithy first appeared in articles which Wallace wrote for the Daily Mail as a war correspondent in South Africa during the Boer war. (See "Kitchener's The Bloke", "Christmas Day On The Veldt", "The Night Of The Drive", "Home Again", and "Back From The War-The Return of Smithy" in the collection Reports From The Boer War). The Smithy of these articles is presumably the prototype of the character in the later stories.

In his autobiography People Edgar Wallace describes the origin of of his first "Smithy" collection as follows: "What was in my mind... was to launch forth as a story-writer. I had written one or two short stories whilst I was in Cape Town, but they were not of any account. My best practice were my 'Smithy' articles in the Daily Mail, and the short history of the Russian Tsars (Red Pages from Tsardom, R.G.) which ran serially in the same paper. Collecting the 'Smithys', I sought for a publisher, but nobody seemed anxious to put his imprint upon my work, and in a moment of magnificent optimism I founded a little publishing business, which was called 'The Tallis Press.' It occupied one room in Temple Chambers, and from here I issued "Smithy" at 1 shilling and sold about 30,000 copies."

The present volume contains the first 12 stories in the 24-part series that Wallace wrote for the London weekly Ideas under the title The "Makings-Up" of Nobby Clark.

01. Darkie, the Magician
02. The Concert of Europe
03. The Lean Years
04. How the Kents Got Their Nickname
05. The Old and the Bold
06. The Libeller
07. The Cup
08. The Dash of General Oosh
09. The Wigshire Fairies
10. A Family Affair
11. The Love Affair of Nosey
12. The Sanguine Chooper

1. — DARKIE, THE MAGICIAN.

First published in Ideas, 14 July 1909

[A few months ago, when Smithy and Nobby Clark said "Good-bye" for a time to our readers, hundreds of admirers of these famous soldier characters bade them a somewhat reluctant farewell. This week, however, we introduce them again, and Nobby Clark makes his debut as a chronicler of yarns.

It may be that some of our readers will assert that the mantle of Baron Munchausen has descended on Nobby Clark's shoulders—but we are confident that all our readers will read Nobby's yarns with interest and pleasure.

Smithy is here also. But it is Smithy who does all the interrupting now; it is he who utters the sarcastic asides. But he is the same old Smithy; and Nobby is the same old Nobby—always ready with a smart answer to his accusers, and never forgetful of the small sums he has at one time or other—in mad moments of generosity—lent to impecunious privates, and none of which has yet been repaid.—Editor.]

I AM the last man in the world to vouch for the accuracy of any of the stories that Nobby Clark ever told me. Private Smith, of the Anchester Regiment, is constantly in a torment of doubt, being torn between his loyalty to his friend and the tax Nobby is constantly putting upon his credulity. For my part I am content to accept Nobby's stories for what they are worth: to swallow them down without pulling a wry face, or making any demonstration which micht dry up the founts of his inspiration.

If you were one of those coarse, suspicious creatures who make pencil marks on the margins of books from the circulating library, no doubt you would be constantly inscribing ? ? ? after some of his most startling adventures. Perhaps on the flyleaf of this same book you would jot down the period each adventure occupied and prove him to be some 250 years of age.

Happily, I am untainted by any such scepticism, and rising serenely above the clouds of suspicion which envelop his stories, I can see somewhere shining over them the foggy face of the sun of Truth.

As to the tale of the Princess of Chi-pur—I will tell you this some day—I believe, in my charity, not that Nobby invented it, but that he dreamt it, for he was ever a powerful dreamer, and, as Smithy says, "Always woke up in the mornin's with his bedclothes round his neck an' his feet on the piller."

Of the story of Battery X., and the tale of The Blue-nosed Rajah, I can only say that my belief ranges itself by the side of these narratives, in layers, and if you could visualize my mind, what time these stories are in progress, you would receive an impression, as of streaky bacon—little red lines of faith, and broad fat bands of hope.

On summer evenings when the regiment was stationed at Dover, Nobby, Smithy and myself would toil up the dusty road that led to Folkestone, continuing till we reached that ancient inn, "The Valiant Sailor," and here with the broad seas beneath us, and the bulk of the Kentish hills running inland behind us, we would sit on the grass and drink beer, This was before love had come to Nobby and sobered him down; before his imagination had lost its piquancy.

"When we was stationed in Esquimault," said Nobby thoughtfully on such an occasion, "in—never mind the year, but it was a long time ago—"

"I know it wasn't," said the glib Nobby easily, "but I happened to be attached to the Marines for a course of deep sea fishin'—I say when I was stationed at Esquimault, there was a feller in ours by the name o' Darkie. Darkie his name was, owin' to his mother havin' been frightened by a funeral before he was born, an' his face bein' slightly blackish. That was the yarn he told the fellers, but I knew it wasn't true from the first, an' one afternoon when we was walkin' down the High Street an' he told me he was the true King of Oojee-Moojee that 'ad been kidnapped when young, I believed him.

"Darkie was a rare chap for goin' long walks by hisself. He was a brooder an' very mysterious. He had a little box what he kept under his bed, an' in the nights you could hear little bottles a-clinkin' an' smells like incense, an' one night I heard him gnashin' an' grittin' his teeth somethin' horrid. So the next mornin', just as we was goin on parade, I sez to him, 'Darkie,' I sez, 'what did you eat last night before you went to bed, because you had the worst nightmare that I've ever slept next door to?'

"'Not them kind of spirits, Nobby,' he sez, 'but ghost spirits, like you get in Christmas numbers.'

"'A witch doctor,' he sez. 'Owin' to me dark blood, an' me African relations, I've got certain powers.'

"'Old Joe,' he sez without hesitation, an' so he would have, too," explained Nobby seriously, "only owin' to his bein' a steeplechaser he wasn't entered.

"'Lots of people,' sez Darkie, 'don't imagine there's any magic goin' in these days, but they're wrong. I've got magic in my box that people haven't dreamt about. I've got a bottle of stuff that looks like water, but if you sprinkle it over anythin', it turns it into gold. I've got another bottle that if you sprinkle it over anythin' turns it into stone. I've got a bit of carpet that you've only got to stand on, an' wish yourself anywhere to be there.'

"'Let's have a look at the carpet,' I sez. So when we came off parade we went up to his room to have a dekko. He unlocks his box, an' pulls out the carpet. It wasn't anythin' to look at: more like one of them little strips you see outside drawin' rooms with 'wipe your feet' on it—only there was nothin' written on it.

"So we took the carpet down to a field behind the barracks, an' Darkie stood on it.

"There wasn't room for both of as, so Darkie took first turn, partly because it was his carpet an' partly because he knew the hang of it.

"'Where shall I wish to go to?' he sez, an I thought an' thought, but couldn't think of a place.

"'Fine,' I sez, 'if you get to Mean Mir call in at the Somersets' Barracks an' ask Bill Day to pay me that four bob he owes me.'

"So, after some hesitatin', be stood in the middle of the carpet an' sez 'Okosoko!' or somethin' like that, an' believe me, or believe me not," said Nobby, solemnly, "he went an' disappeared right before me very eyes. Sort of faded away like a cloud of steam fades away. It gave me a bit of a start.

"I waited an' waited, but he didn't come back, so after waitin' for an hour I went back to barracks an' had tea. Then I turned up again at the place I left him, an' waited a bit longer. About six o'clock, when the Marines was soundin' 'Retreat,' back came Darkie, sort of gradually comin' into view out of nothin'. First his trousers, then his tunic, then his belt, till all of him was there.

"'I went there,' he sez. 'I came down in the town an' rollin' up me carpet, was havin' a walk through the bazaar, when one of the regimental police pinched me for bein' out of barracks without a pass.'

"From what Darkie said he was jolly near scared to death at the prospect of turnin' up unexpected in India an' not bein' able to explain how he got there, an' as soon as he got a chance, whilst the corporal of the guard was writin' out the charge, he nipped on to the carpet an' wished hisself back to Esquimault.

"I was a bit impressed by what Darkie told me, especially when he started slingin' the mat like an old Indian wallah—because that showed me as clear as daylight that he'd been in India nearly a day.

"'What have you got to do?' I sez cautious, so he explained that all that was required was to say, 'Okosoko,' an' wish hard.

"I didn't like the idea much, but bein' a bit of a chancer, I got on to it, an' said the word. Nothin' happened, so I said it again, but the machinery must have been out of order, for she didn't shift.

"'I don't know,' sez Darkie. 'She's behaved like that before—did you wish where you was goin'?'

"I'd hardly got the words out of my mouth, when I felt myself bein' sort of lifted. I couldn't see anythin', but in a second I felt myself let down again, an' I was in a big stone corridor, an' standin' right opposite me' was a Coldstream Guardsman, with his rifle at the slope.

"What's that to do with you, you
perishin' feather-bed recruit?" I sez.

"'If I wasn't on duty,' he sez, 'I'd give you a lift under the jaw that'd shake the dirt out of your ears, but as it is I'm goin' to put you where the pigs can't commit cannibalism on you,' he sez. 'Guard, turn out!'

"In two shakes of a duck's tail I found myself in Esquimault, an' there was Darkie waitin' for me.

"That," Nobby went on musingly, "was what I might call my introduction to magic. I've seen fellers since, chaps who can take rabbits out o' high-hats, an' tell you the object you're holdin', when they're blindfolded. I've known other fellers who can put a young lady in a box an' make her disappear with a wave of the wand, but Darkie's magic was the best, because it was all fair an' above board.

"Darkie used to tell me yarns by the hour together till me hair used to rise about things him an' his relations used to do, an' one day when I asked him why he joined the army, he burst out cryin' an' said that one of the goblins had a spite against him, an' had doomed him to wear a soldier's uniform for seven years.

"'In old times,' he sez, 'they used to turn you into a horse, or a flea, or a steam roundabout, or some other kind of animal, but nowadays it's all in the soldierin' line, an' if you ever see a feller servin' in the ranks who ain't no more fit to be a soldier than a grasshopper, you can bet he's upset some of the fairies.

"'Most of the M.I.* chaps have offended 'em,' he sez. 'You've only to see how out of place they are on horseback, an' how often they fall off, to know that.'

"I got quite attached to old Darkie, because it was easy to see he was somethin' out of the common, but just as our friendship was what I might call gettin' up speed somethin' come along an' ended it.

"We used to go out into the country an' practise with the carpet till I thought no more of goin' to China or pushin' off to the North Pole or the White City or any of these famous places than I should have thought of takin' a 'bus.

"One night we went down town, an' that was the beginnin' of the end. We got back to barracks just as the Last Post was soundin', an' bein' a bit cold Darkie lugged out the carpet an' put it by the side of the bed to undress on. I suppose he must hare forgotten all about the carpet, for he was sittin' in his shirt on the edge of the bed when the orderly sergeant walks in an' calls Darkie by name.

"'I know all about that,' sez the sergeant, tryin' to be funny, 'but His Excellency likes smart young soldiers on duty, an' we haven't got so many.'

"'Oh, does he?' sez Darkie, wrathful; 'well, I wish I could see the Governor to give him a bit....'

"I can see him standin' there," said Nobby, solemnly, "in his greyback shirt, with his thin legs stretched out, an' his toes a-twiddlin'. Then all of a sudden he began to fade away....

"There was a fancy ball on at Government House that night, an' all the aristocracy an' gentry was there. The Governor, a very fat chap an' short of temper, was standin' up in the middle of the room talkin' to the Lady de Smith, when a little whiff of smoke appeared in front of him.

Then out of the smoke came Darkie in his shirt an' his skinny legs.

"'It's a soldier!' yells the Governor, foamin' at the mouth, 'a soldier in a shirt!'

"'It's like this, your Excellency,' sez Darkie, so upset an' bewildered that he hadn't the presence of mind to wish he was away, 'this little bit o' carpet—'

"'Take him away!' screams the Governor, as the ladies started faintin' at the horrid sight of Darkie in his shirt. 'Guard! Police! Help!'

"'Go to blazes,' roars the Governor. 'Go to Halifax, go to Bath, go to the devil!'

"'I wish I could,' sez Darkie, an' there was a horrid clap of thunder an' he vanished!"

"Nobody knows," he said, sadly, "because nobody ever seen him again. I never troubled to inquire at Bath, an' I know he didn't arrive at Halifax."

"There's only one other place he could have arrived at," said Smithy, tartly, "an' anyway the story's a lie."

"As to that," said Nobby, softly, "you'd better ask Darkie—when you get there!"

2. — THE CONCERT OF EUROPE.

First published in Ideas, 22 Jul 1909

"THE most wonderful battle I was ever in," said Nobby Clark reflectively, "was the Battle of Chang Li, when we had that turn-up with Germany. I know," he added hastily, "that a lot of people are under the impression that we've never fought Germany, but as a matter of fact we did, only it never got into the papers. We fought 'em on what I might call strategic lines.

"It happened in—well, I won't tell you the year, but it was not so very long ago. We was stationed in Hong Kong at the time, but owin' to certain disturbances down Chang Li way two companies of ours was sent over to the mainland to look after the Consul, the bank, an' the missionaries—what I might call the three great British institutions that makes our glorious country what it is.

"It was a bit hard on me, because I was courtin' a Chinese princess at the time, who lived in Water-street, Hong Kong, an' she was rare cut up about my goin'.

"Promise me," she sez, "that you won't get killed.

"'An' if you happen to meet my father, the Emperor Ho Lor, you won't do him dirty?'

"So we shook hands an' parted sorrerful, an with the band playin', an' all the Chinese shoutin' 'Bravo, Anchesters!' we marched away to a foreign clime—Hong Kong bein' British.

"We got to Chang Li after many adventures, such as bein' sea-sick, an' me losin' 4s. 9½d. to Spud Murphy over a rotten game called 'Two Spot,' an' at last reached our destination.

"Chang Li was full of troops, French, German, Swiss, Dutch, Eyetalians, et cetera, an' there they was all sittin' down at the cafés as we marched in, eatin' their national food—the French with their frogs, the Germans with their sausages, the Swiss with their condensed milk, an' the Eyetalians eatin' ice cream an' roast chestnuts. It was a wonderful sight.

"The Chinese wasn't so friendly as the Hong Kong Chinese, owin' to their bein' the enemy, an' the way they used to go on at us, gnashin' their teeth an' waggin' their pigtails, was calculated to strike terror to the bravest heart; but it didn't worry our gallant fellers—'B' an' 'C' companies—an' we answered 'em in the same way, gnashin' our teeth, an' waggin' our tails, in a manner of speakin'.

"We was marched off to barracks, which was a pagoda, an' served out with rations, an' told to hold ourselves in readiness for war.

"Before we left Hong Kong I read a bit in the Chinese papers—very difficult to read it was, too—how all the nations was workin' together, an on the way over we got the straight griffen* that we was to be very polite to our fellow fighters, because we was all one lovin' family an' brothers-in-arms. An' everybody was goin' to work together with one object, viz., to out the Chink.

"'There'll be a bit of a difficulty, won't there, colour-sergeant?' I sez to the flag when he told me. 'It don't seem natural to be friendly with chaps when you can't understand their language.'

"'There'll be no difficulty, Clark,' he sez. "'We've got to work together on terms of equality, an',' he sez, 'as soon as they discover that we're their superiors at fightin', drill an' general ability, things will settle down by themselves.

"So word was passed round the ship that when we got to Chang Li, an' met our dear comrades, we was to remember that one man was as good as another, but that we was a little better than most.

"That night, as we was sittin' on the floor in Pagoda Barracks talkin' about the matter, a lance-corporal by the name of Sigger sez that he noticed, as we was marchin' in, one of the Eyetalians laughin'.

"'If this here brotherly feelin's got to continue,' sez Sigger very firm, 'these Saffron Hill organ-grindin' crowd has got to be a bit more respectful.'

"It was a night I shan't forget in a hurry," said Nobby solemnly. "There was me, an' Spud, an' Big Jarvis an' Tony Gerrard, an' a lot more of England's bravest soldiers a-sittin' round a big can of Chinese beer, eatin' it with chopsticks an' talkin' of the horrors of war, an' how it feels to be tortured.

"'They always torture prisoners,' sez Spud. They cut fretwork patterns out of 'em, bein' an' artistic lot o' blighters; but what they like best is to starve you to death.'

"'I've heard,' sez Big Jarvis, 'that they make you run a mile over tin tacks.' Another chap had heard that their chief torture was to stop a feller from goin' to sleep; an' with this light-hearted chatter the evenin' passed.

"Next day there was a big parade of all the troops in the station—French, Germans, an' all—an' when we was drawn up the German General started talkin' in English to us.

"'It's a great pleasure,' he sez, 'for me to command such gallant fellers as the English. Since I've been put in charge here I've been lookin' forward to the day when I could say to the English soldier, "Go there, an' he goeth," so we'll start this international campaign by givin' three Hocks for the Kaiser. Hock! Hock! Hock!'

"'What's bitin' you?' sez our officer, Captain Umfreville, very hasty. 'Who's been puttin' silly ideas in your head? If there's any hockin' to be done we've got a few people at home we'd like to hock about.' So we gave three hocks for the King, three hocks for the Prince of Wales, three hocks for the Army, Navy, an' Auxiliary Forces, an' hocks for the police an' fire brigade.

"'This is mutiny!' he sez. 'I'd challenge you to a duel if I wasn't so busy. As it is, I've a good mind to get down off me horse an' push your face in.'

"'Do,' sez our Captain; 'do, you putty-faced mut! I haven't killed a general for three weeks, an' I'm gettin' a bit out of practice.'

"This slight breeze caused a little unpleasantness, because the General was goin' to drill the combined troops, an' the parade ground bein' very small, an bein' the only parade ground in Chang Li, he couldn't very well march his men off.

"'Will you kindly remove your militia recruits?' he sez, politely, 'whilst I put me seasoned troops through a few practical an' instructive evolutions?'

"But our Captain took no notice, except to put up two fingers in a highly suggestive manner.

"'Will you,' sez the General, very patient, 'march your Territorial misfits to yonder Chinese cemetery, to allow the gallant soldiers of united Europe to evolute?'

"'I'll see you,' sez our Captain, 'at the tail end of a flamin' comet before I do.'

"So the General decided to treat us with contempt, an' pretend we wasn't there. So he called out 'Shun!' an' all the German troops came to attention. But the Frenchies didn't seem to hear him speak. They was lookin' at the beautiful clouds, an admirin' the scenery tremendous.

"'Meanin' us?' sez the French officer—'meanin' these heroic soldiers of La Belle France, mong General?'

"'I do,' sez the French officer. 'What?' he sez, in horror, 'hand these glorious veterans over to the command of a square-headed laager beef merchant—never!' he sez.

"'Then,' sez the General, very vexed, 'will you take your weedy-legged children-in-arms off this parade ground before me language gives 'em sunstroke?'

"'To which I reply,' sez the French officer in the courteous talk of his country, 'rats.'

"So the General went on to the Eyetalians, but they wouldn't do anythin' owin' to the fact that it was Tuesday, an' Tuesday was one of the six days of the week they didn't work. The Russians wasn't any better, an' the Dutch was the worst of the lot. In fact, the whole bloomin' lot was at sixes an' sevens, an' there they stood glarin' at each other.

"'Well,' sez our Captain, after a bit, 'I've brought my men out to drill, an' drill 'em I will.' So with that we started goin' through evolutions, left form an' right form, an' the square was so small that every time we moved we ran into another lot.

"There would be if you took your feetovitch off the bloomin' square,' sez our officer. 'As it is, there ain't room to moveski.'

"That was the position in the allied army the first day the various countries came together, an' it might have remained so, only, as luck would have it, owin' to a certain British soldier with a large brain an' an artful turn of mind was the means of bringin' 'em all together—all except the Germans, who wouldn't mix nohow. That soldier," added Nobby, with impressive modesty, "was me."

"It happened that three days after the parade, me an' Smithy was a-walkin' through the native quarter, when an old Chinese gent, with a very yeller face an' a very long pigtail, stepped out of a house, an', holdin' out his hand, sez, 'What, Nobby?—in Chinese, of course.

"'Cheese it,' he sez—in Chinese. 'I'm the Emperor Ho Lor. You know my daughter, Liz?'

"'Come an' have a drink,' sez the Emperor.' So we turned into the saloon bar of the Mandarin's Head, an' he called for three pints of Chinese beer.

"Come an' have a drink," sez the Emperor. So we
turned into the saloon bar of the Mandarin's Head.

"'Yes,' he sez, 'I'm the Emperor Ho Lor, an' a rotten fine time I'm havin' just now. What with Boxers an' the rebels an' the Germans, it ain't much catch emperorin' nowadays.'

"'Bless you, no,' sez Emperor Ho Lor, with a pityin' smile, 'I've only got local rank. You see, in China there's so many people that have got a grudge against the Emperor that they keep substitutes to work 'em off on. I'm Emperor 171,943, that's my regimental number.'

"One thing brought up another, an' Smithy happened to mention the Germans, an' the trouble they was givin' us.

"'Lose 'em,' sez Ho Lor. 'China's a big place, an' lots of things get mislaid; If you happen to put a thing down an' look round for it a few minutes later it's gone. What you've got to do with the Germans is to give 'em the slip.'

"Next mornin' there was a hasty parade, bugles soundin' all over the shop, an' the Colour-Sergeant came rushin' into the pagoda shoutin' 'Fall in! fall in!'

"We paraded in front of the barrack an' got served out with ammunition, an' marched off to the square, where we found all the other troops assembled.

"It appears that news had come in by special messenger that the enemy was approachin', an' so the officers had had a council of war, in the course of which anybody who'd got an opinion about anybody else had up an' gave it, an' in the end, after the German an' the English officers had been pulled apart, an' the Eyetalian had begged the Dutch officer's pardon for bitin' a bit out of his ear, it was agreed that all the nations should do their fightin on their own, but that they should all move out together.

"'I shall march by me compass to a point north-north-west by a point south,' sez the German, 'to the place marked X, where the body was found, as they say in the Sunday newspapers; an' I shall then engage the enemy on his right flank, or maybe his left, or perhaps not at all. I shall then rout him, or retire before him, as the case may be; or, perhaps, I'll feint an' draw him on to you.'

'"Don't draw him on to me,' sez the Dutch officer hastily. 'Faint as much as you like an' I'll be the last man in the world to talk about it; but don't draw him on me, please.'

"So with that we all began to march away. The Germans left us outside the town, an' went west for about half-a-mile. Then they went north, then they went south, then come back a little bit, an' the whole bloomin' army stood watchin' 'em.

"He's steerin' by his compass,' sez the Dutchman, 'a new compass presented to him this mornin' by the Emperor Ho Lor.'

"Two days out of Chang Li we came into touch with the real enemy, an' defeated 'em, an' then we started to look for the Germans. We asked everybody we met if he'd seen 'em, but all we got was headshakes.

"When we got back to Chang Li we put an advertisement in the papers askin' finder to communicate an' no questions asked; but nothin' came in reply.

"'Well,' he sez, slowly, 'it wasn't exactly a compass, it was one of them watch-pocket roolelette things; you press a button, an' a needle spins. I ain't quite sure where it stops,' he sez, 'an' I'm not so sure where the Germans will stop, but if they go on followin' the needle they'll get somewhere some day.'"

3. — THE LEAN YEARS.

First published in Ideas, 28 Jul 1909

"LOTS of people," said Nobby Clark modestly, "wonder where I get me education from. I'm nothin' to-day to what I used to be. Why, I used to talk Latin like a bloomin'—er—Turk, an' Algebra an' Euclid, an' all those foreign tongues. They come as natural to me as Hindustani comes to a recruit. The fact of the matter is that I don't like talkin' about meself as I used to before I went an' disgraced meself by joinin' the army."

"Disgraced meself," repeated Nobby calmly, but with relish; "tarnished me family coat-of-arms that used to hang up over the dresser—many's the time I've polished it up on a Saturday with silver sand an' brick-dust—an' brought sorrer to me aged parents that lived at Clark's Hall in Clarkfontein."

Nobby coughed and waited as one who expected an interruption, but Smithy was filling his pipe with a sneer on his honest face, and I was too interested to interject a query.

"Them days," continued Nobby darkly, "are best not spoken about. It can't do any good, an' people would only think I was boastin', but I went to the best schools in the land, includin' Rugby an' Eton an' Oxford an' Cambridge.

"But, Nobby," I was stung into remarking, "you couldn't have gone to them all—take your choice, Rugby or Eton, Oxford or Cambridge, but not the lot!"

"The lot," he said stoutly. "We was always movin', so we had to get a fresh school at every flit. Perhaps I'd come home from Rugby one night with me little school books under me arm, and me little slate on me back, an' I'd find the old man sittin' in his shirt sleeves on the doorstep of the Hall.

"'Nobby,' he'd say, 'go in an' help mother to take the bedstead down an' pack the saucepans.'

"'What for, sire?'—I always called him that owin' to our bein' gentlefolks—'what for, sire?' I'd say.

"'Ask no questions, thou varlet,' he'd say, 'an' you'll hear no lies.' But afterwards he'd tell me that the dog of a landlord had been askin' for the rent again, an' sooner than pay he'd find another Hall. So we went round the country, an' that's how it happened that I got what I might call educational advantages, that no other feller got, gettin' to know lords and dukes, an' many other high-class civilians.

"I hadn't a thought of the army in those days, except to go as an officer, an' it was whilst me father was payin' a visit to the King in the country that I first got the idea of becomin' a common soldier.

"I shall always remember the night pa went," mused Nobby. "He hadn't any idea of stayin' with the King, who we only knew slightly, an' me an' pa was a-sittin' in the back garden of Clark's Hall, Whitechapel-road, watchin' the cabbages grow, when one of the Royal servants in livery came out from the house.

"The King wants you," sez the Royal
servant, producin' a Royal command.

"'For not payin' your rates,' sez the Royal servant, an' although me father didn't want to go, they persuaded him, an' he was carried off to the Royal palace at Brixton strapped to an ambulance, an' one of the Royal servants was laid up for a week through me father accidentally kicking him in the neck.

"That's where I first got the idea of becomin' a royal servant meself, an' when father came out—the King wouldn't hear of him leavin' for three months—I up an' spoke me mind.

"'What!' he sez, horrowfied, 'a son of mine, a scion, in a manner of speakin', of me noble house, walkin' about the streets,' he sez, 'behind a band an' a flag, an' shoutin' "Amen!" Perish the thought!'

"'You mistake me, noble parent,' I sez, 'I don't mean the Salvation Army; I mean the soldierin' army.'

"'That's worse,' he sez. 'What! A Clark of Clarksdorp with a red coat an' a pair of pontoon boots! A de Clark markin' time an' numberin' off from the right! O that I should have lived to see the day!'

"'It's a good way o' gettin' money without work,' I sez, an' that sort o' struck him.

"'So it is,' he sez. 'I never thought of that before—but still it's a bit of a come-down for a Clark—besides, you ain't big enough.'

"'Dry up, sire,' I sez, bold. 'I shan't have to pay no rent, nor no taxes, an' I shan't get pinched for not payin' 'em.'

"That convinced him more than ever, an' after a long talk I went down to Woolwich an' saw the recruiting officer.

"'You're about three feet too short for that noble corps,' sez the officer thoughtful. 'Otherwise you're just the height.'

"'If you was another ten inches round the chest,' sez the officer, 'I'd pass you like a shot, only, unfortunately, unless I enlist you as a tent pole, there ain't any openin' for you in the Coldstream Guards.'

"'I'm sorry,' sez the officer, shakin' his head. 'The crack regiments are full, an' them that ain't cracked wouldn't take you—besides, your dial would frighten the horses.'

"'There's a fine crack Militia regiment that wants growin' boys,' he sez, an' there's a regiment that's not quite right in its head owin' to havin' got sunstroke in India. You might slip into them before they noticed you was there, but it's a bit risky. If you take my tip, you'll go home to your ma, get her to plant you the garden, with lots of fertilizer round your feet, an' dig yourself up in a year's time, an' come to me.

"So I went home very sad an' sorry an' told the old man that the army wouldn't have me.

"'I thought they wouldn't,' he sez, 'an a jolly good job, too. You stick to the mat-makin' trade, me lad, that I'm learnin' you.' (Father learnt it himself when he was stayin' with the King).

"But, somehow, me mind had got set on the army. I used to dream about it by night an' day, an' I could see meself with a sword gallopin' round the parade ground, an' all the low privates salutin' me.

"I used to go round to the barracks to watch the soldiers marchin' out, an' me heart used to fairly ache at the thought that I couldn't join in their merry games, such as carry n' coal an' doing sergeants' mess fatigue.

"We wus livin' at that time at Clark's Hall, West Ham-we had two rooms on the first floor an' paid our rent regular, owin' to the landlord livin' on the ground floor, an' bein' a fightin man—an' me father took me up to the hospital.

'"It's me heir,' sez me father, 'he's worryin' hisself to death about bein' a soldier.'

'"He's here,' sez me father, 'only bein' turned sideways to you, you can't see him—turn to the front, Nobby.'

"'He has four good meal-hours a day,' sez me father—'breakfast, dinner, tea, an' supper.'

"'I know all about the hours,' sez the doctor; 'but does be get anythin' to eat?'

"'He does,' he sez, very stiff. 'When did I give you that arrowroot biscuit, Nobby?'

"'There you are!' sez me father triumphant, so the doctor mixed some medicine which said on it, "To be taken before meals," an' we went away."

There was in the smile that illuminated Nobby*s face, as he told this story, just a hint of hardness, which suggested that beneath the fantastic embroidery of his yarn, lay a thin stratum of bitter truth—a grim smile that gave a momentary glimpse of a hungry childhood.

"Somehow the medicine never did much good. It gave me a bit of an extra appetite, but I didn t want appetite, me, with the front of me weskit knockin' against me spine every time I walked, an' the only satisfaction I got was to take up me old post near the barrack gate, an' watch the recruits bein' taught the rudiments (to use bad language) of their military career.

"I got so used to goin' up, that the corporals on duty at the gate knew me, an' they used to say, 'Hullo, Skimpy, are you there again?'

"'No,' sez one of 'em, one day, 'I can't see you, but I can hear the wind whistlin' through your ribs.'

"No," sez one of 'em, one day, "I can't see you, but
I can hear the wind whistlin' through your ribs."

"But one of 'em, a chap by the name of Ginger Williams, got a bit friendly with me, an' gave me lots of hints as to how a feller could increase his weight an' chest measurement.

"'What you ought to do,' he sez, 'if you want to get in the army is to take plenty of exercise an' eat hearty.'

"'Beef steaks for breakfast, mutton broth at ten o'clock, beef steak puddin' at one—'

"He thought of a good many ways, but they was all expensive; but one day, when I was sittin' between the railin's danglin' me legs through the bars of a gratin', somethin' he said gave me an idea.

"'If we could only have you in barracks for a month,' he sez, 'we'd feed you up so that you'd pass the doctor.'

"I thought about this all night, an' I made up me mind. I didn't have to consult me father, owin' to his bein' on another visit to royalty, down at Pentonville Park, over a matter of a pair of boots that he found outside a shop, an' the next mornin', just as 'orderly corporals' was soundin', I walked boldly up to barracks, an' slippin' through a ventilator—"

"A ventilator," said Nobby stolidly; "I cut across the square, an' went into the first barrack-room I could find.

"It was 'B' company's room, an' the orderly man was just layin' the table, cuttin' up the bread an' sortin' out the kippers. 1 didn't lose me head, but sittin' down at the table between two chaps, I began to eat.

"Everybody was so busy feedin' that somehow I wasn't noticed, till Spud Murphy, who happened to be on me right, sez:

"Then another feller wanted to know where his kipper had gone, an' they counted 'em up, an' then they counted the men.

"'That's rum,' sez the corporal. 'I could have sworn I saw somethin'—it must have been your shadder.'

"'I can see a long, thin streak,' sez a chap at the end of the table; 'it's like a long smut—there it goes!' he sez with a yell, as I got up an' bolted. The door was shut, but fortunately there was a crack in it, an' I got through without anybody spottin' me.

"Next day I tried the same game on with "H" Company, and then I went to dinner with "A," an' what with disappearin' rations, it got about Woolwich that the Anchesters was haunted. All this time I was gainin' weight, goin' up as much as four ounces a day, an' it got harder an' harder for me to get into barracks an' get out again.

"Then came a time when I was almost visible to the naked eye, an' I thought that the time was gettin' close for me to make an effort.

"You know that the Anchesters always celebrate Albuhera day. There's no proper parades, no drills, but the regiment turns out in review order an' troops the colours. Afterwards they have a special dinner, an' I sez to meself, 'I'm goin' to that dinner.'

"I watched the regiment paradin', listened to the band playin' the regimental march, heard the fellers give three cheers for the King, an by-an'-bye, when the troops was dismissed, I heard the bugle sound, 'Cookhouse,' an' I knew the time had come.

"I nipped up to barracks, dashed up to 'B' company's room an' sat down. Everybody was happy an' lighthearted owin' to free beer, an' other festivities, an' nobody noticed me, an' I ate.

"I ate three helpin's of roast beef, a meat pie, half a chicken an' a blanc-mange, then started in to make a good meal."

"I found myself growin'," he said impressively, "upwards an' outwards, an' after a bit, Corporal Williams, who was sittin' opposite to me, sez with a start:

"He sort of grasped the situation quicker than I did, for he jumped up, an' catchin' me by the arm, he ran me across to the hospital. The military doctor was just leavin'.

"'Hum!' sez the colonel, lookin' me over; 'it's early closing day, but I'll swear you in—take the book in your right hand...'

"What I couldn't understand was, why this one dinner had done the trick, an' I spoke to the corporal about it.

"'Dinner?' he sez, very scornful, 'that wasn't a dinner—we never have dinner on Albuhera day.'

4. — HOW THE KENTS GOT THEIR NICKNAME.

First published in Ideas, 04 Aug 1909

[WHEN an author depends for his material upon stories that are told to him, he exercises little control over the scenes or incidents of those stories. Recently Nobby Clark has been giving me some extraordinary accounts of how famous regiments have come by their nicknames. This week I tell of the 50th (Queen's Own) Royal West Kent Regiment, and next week I hope to give as extraordinary an account of the 5th (Old and Bold) Northumberland Fusiliers. —E.W.]

IF there is one thing clearer to me than any other, it is that Private Nobby Clark possesses an almost encyclopædic knowledge of matters pertaining to the Army. This is a surprising thing in a soldier, because Mr. Atkins is, as a rule, quite content to acquaint himself with the gossip and scandal of his own corps and let the remainder of the Army go hang.

If you say to a young gentleman of the Anchester Regiment—in a moment of enthusiasm—"What a fine corps the Bedford's is!" he will turn upon you a cold and unresponsive eye and remark, "I dersay—we was quartered with the Beds, in Bombay; ain't that the regiment that young Bill Mason transferred from?' So far as he can connect the Bedford's with young Bill Mason, the regiment exists. Cut away the connecting link formed by the transferred William, and the corps is off the map.

But not so with Nobby Clark. To him regiments are entities, have individualities, and are very real. When Nobby condescends to discuss the infantry regiments that go to the making of the British Army, he is startlingly informative. He tells you things you have never heard before, retails secret histories that have been previously unrecorded—altogether he is interesting "even," as Smithy says, "if be ain't as reliable as a dictionary."

Especially fascinating are the stories Nobby tells of regimental nicknames and how they were acquired.

"Don't you believe," said Nobby severely, "all them stories you read about regiments an' their nicknames. It stands to reason that if a corps gets the title of the 'Fightin' Nine Hundredth,' they try to make you believe that they got it at the Battle of Waterloo, an' carefully suppress the fact that it was secured at great expense in Dublin owin' to the regiment's habit of talkin' loudly.

"Lots of nicknames given by fellers to regiments was intended to be sarcastic, but somehow they've stuck, an' lies have been written round 'em to prove that the 'Fightin' This' an' the 'Gallant That' got their titles on the gory field of battle.

"There's some exceptions, such as the West Kents, the old 60th, an' people who call 'em by their nickname don't know the honourable way they got it. If you read books, they'll tell you that the Kents got it owin' to sufferin' from ophthalmia in Egypt, but that ain't the reason.

"Years ago the Anchesters, the Kents, the Wigshires, an' the 7th Fusiliers was brigaded together in a little place in India called Poona. It wasn't a nice station, bein' hotter than Doolali an' not so cool as a blast furnice, an' the only thing we had to do besides early mornin' parades was killin' flies an' swappin' lies.

"We'd have died, only it was too hot to do anythin' so silly, but we was gettin' so into that state of mind where we'd have welcomed a good funeral when somethin' happened up country.

"There was a blue-nosed Rajah by the name of Mike livin' up on the border. It wasn't exactly a British country owin' to his bein' independent, an' keepin' his own army, but we had a feller there who called hisself a resident, an' this resident's job was to keep an unfriendly eye on the Rajah an' give him a bit of his mind as often as he thought fit.

"We called the blue-nosed Rajah 'Mike' because we couldn't think of his other name.

"'I understand,' sez the resident, 'that you've had a slight dispute with your Prime Minister.'

"'Well,' sez the resident, 'I've got to tell you that the British Government are very annoyed.'

"'Why?' see Mike, very surprised, 'he was my Prime Minister, an',' he sez, 'it was my elephant!'

"The blue-nosed Rajah—he was one of the Oosleum caste—that's why his nose was blue—looked as if he was goin' to get very wild, but gulpin' down what he was goin' to say about the British Government, he asked the resident it he'd stop to lunch, an' the resident sez he didn't mind if he did.

"After lunch they had coffee, an' in consequence the resident was carried home on a stretcher with horrid pains inside.

"The Rajah was dreadfully upset, an' sent his Court physician every half-hour to see if the resident was dead yet, but somehow the resident, havin' a strong constitution, pulled round. The Rajah sent him all sorts of invalid tack to pull him round, an' the resident was able to clear the bungalow of rats by layin' round bits of the jellies an' sweets, an' nourishin' dishes that Mike sent, in places where the rats used to congregate.

"When he was well enough to write, the resident sent a wire to Simla, an' before you could say knife the Poona brigade, with a battery of artillery, was movin' up to Mike's country, on a friendly visit.

"Mike was a bit hurt when he saw us marchin' in to Tongapore—that was the name of his city

"'You don't suggest,' be sez to our general, 'that I poisoned your bloomin' resident, do you?'

"'No, your supreme highness,' sez the general. 'I'm quite willin' to believe that the oxalic acid our doctor found in the jam tarts was put there by way of flavourin', but owin' to the fact that just about now there was a cheap excursion to Tongapore, I brought the troops up to have a dekko at your beautiful city.'

"'What time is the last train back?' sez the Rajah. 'Because,' he sez, 'this is mail day, an' I've got a lot of letters to write.'

"'The train service,' sez the general, 'is a bit erratic—in fact the last train's gone. But don't let me worry you. I like this city,' he sez enthusiastic. 'I'm thinkin' of buildin' a house an' settlin' down.'

"'But,' sez Mike, his nose gettin' bluer than ever, 'I haven't got any room for your men. What will you do with them?'

"'Let me see,' sez the general, musin'ly. 'I'll put the Anchesters at the East gate an' the Bedfords at the West gate. The Wigshires can be in the centre of the town, an' we'll put the artillery on the hill overlookin' your palace, so,' he sez, 'as they can see you, an' if necessary salute you, As for the Kents—the West Kents, we'll put 'em on guard in your palace.'

"'What!' roars Mike, excited. 'Put your Deptford Broadway ploughboys in me beautiful palace—never!'

"'Never!' sez the Rajah, 'What!' he sez, fiercer, 'put nine hundred Maidstone Mashers where they can see me wives!'

"Never!" sez the Rajah, "What!" he sez, fiercer, "put nine
hundred Maidstone Mashers where they can see me wives!"

"'That's my idea,' sez the general eagerly. "That's why I'm puttin' the West Kents at the palace. Don't you know their name? They're the Blind Half Hundred, so called because they always shut their eyes when they see a woman.'

"An' with that the general pulled a book out of his pocket, an' showed the Rajah the nicknames of the Army.

"As a matter of fact the Rajah couldn't read English, otherwise he would have seen that the Kents hadn't got such a nickname. The general had invented it on the spur of the moment.

"After a lot of talkin' the Rajah agreed. He was in a bit of a funk about the resident bein' poisoned an' didn't quite know what the English were goin' to do, so he made the best of a bad job, an' the Kents were ordered up to the palace.

"They was stationed in the next line to ours an' they was very jubilant till the bugle sounded for 'em to fall in.

"'Queen's Own,' sez their C.O., 'you have been chosen for palace guard, but before you march in I've got a few words to say to you, an' a little drill to give you. It's called Eye Drill,' he sez, an' explained what they had to do.

"'On the command Woman Comin',' he sez, 'the battalion will shut its eyes by the right, all except officers commandin' companies,' he sez. 'On the command Woman Passed, the battalion will open its eyes again, an' look straight to the front.'

"He kept the poor blighters standin' there for half-an-hour openin' an' shuttin' their eyes until some of 'em got dizzy, an' when the drill was over the regiment marched up to the palace.

"There's a feller in the Kents named Tubby Jackson, who told us afterwards what happened.

"It looked as though palace guard was goin' to be one of the coushiest jobs in Tongapore, an' so it would have been, only there was so many women about the palace, an' there was all sorts of complications in consequence.

"Tho chap on guard at the door of the harem was found asleep by the C.O. an' put in the guard-room, but his excuse was that there was such a lot of girls about that he'd kept his eyes shut for an hour an' naturally dozed off.

"Then another feller was found starin' at two of the Rajah's ladies till his eyes were fairly startin' out of his head. His excuse was that he was colour-blind an' thought they was men. but the worst thing that happened happened to Tubby hisself.

"Tubby was on sentry—go near the ladies' garden. It was a pleasant sort of post, because he was surrounded by beautiful flowers, an' bushes, an' very few girls came his way. The path he was on duty over led up to the Rajah's treasure house, an' that was why a sentry had been posted.

"One evenin', as he was pacin' up an' down, there was a rustlin' in the bushes, an' Tubby brought his rifle to the port.

"'Halt! Who comes there?' he sez, an' a sweet, musical voice sez in English, 'A woman, soldier.'

"He heard her pass, an' after givin' her time to get out of sight, he looked round again. By an' bye, he heard somebody comin' back.

"'A woman,' sez the same sweet, musical voice, an' Tubby shut his eyes tight an' let her pass.

"Next mornin' there was the devil to pay. The Rajah came cussin' and swearin' into the general's office.

"'I've been robbed!' he sez. 'Someone's been to my treasure house an' pinched a bag of gold—Dash! Blow! Blank!' an' other dreadful things he sez.

"It appeared that anybody who passed the sentry could get into the treasure house without any trouble, but all the sentries, includin' Tubby an' Tubby's relief, swore that nobody had passed.

"The affair blew over, an' a few nights later, when Tubby was on guard wonderin' how the thief got past the quarter guard, he heard a rustlin' in the bushes an' challenged.

"'Pass, lady,' sez Tubby very gruff, 'an' keep your mitts off the blue-nosed Rajah's stuff.'

"She was back again in a few minutes, an' Tubby, shuttin' his eves, heard her fairy footsteps dyin' away in the distance.

"'I've had about as much of this.' sez Mike, grittin' his teeth like mad, 'as I'm likely to stand. Because a tin-eyed civil servant gets ptomaine poisonin' am I to put up with a lot of thievin' soldiers? Am I to lose me priceless heirlooms?'

"'I've been robbed again,' howls the Rajah. 'This time it's a diamond pin that I used to fasten me imperial necktie to me royal collar—I won't stand it!'

"The general pacified him after a bit, an' there was a strict inquiry. Tubby was sent for, an' he gave evidence, an' the colonel of the West Kents was sent for, an' be swore at the Rajah for castin' reflections at the honour of the regiment.

"'Why! you coffee-faced mutt!' he sez, 'do you mean to cast aspersions on the pride of Deptford? For two pins, I'd—'

"About a week after that Tubby was on guard in the garden, when the rustlin' in the bushes came.

"Halt!" sez Tubby, shuttin' his eyes, "halt, ma'am!"

"'Well,' sez Tubby, 'push off, perfect lady, or I'll not be responsible for me actions.'

"'Push off, miss,' sez Tubby, very agitated, 'an' when this affair's all over an' we get back in Poona I'll explain why I can't let you pass.'

"'Yes, you will,' sez Tubby, keepin' his eyes shut, 'yes you will, you big-footed thief! I don't want to see you, Nobby, but I can hear you. Blind Half-Hundred, we are, Nobby; not deaf, you pin pincher.'

"An' the curious thing was," mused Nobby Clark, "that he should have recognised me voice, because in them days I used to sing in the choir."

5. — THE OLD AND THE BOLD.

First published in Ideas, 11 Aug 1909

[WHEN an author depends for his material upon stories that are told to him, he exercises little control over the scenes or incidents of those stories. Recently Nobby Clark has been giving me some extraordinary accounts of how famous regiments have come by their nicknames. Last week I told of the 50th (Queen's Own) Royal West Kent Regiment, and this week I give as extraordinary an account of the 5th (Old and Bold) Northumberland Fusiliers. —E.W.]

I MAY as well start fair by confessing that I do not accept Private Nobby Clark's version of how the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers got its nickname.

I do not accept it for seven reasons. The first is that I know it to be untrue, and the others do not count. As to the story of the lost attestation papers, and the part that Clark, Senr., played, it is not for me to judge, only I suspect that this parent of Nobby's has done many things worse.

"Me old father," said Nobby reminiscently, "was a very haughty man in his young days; he was as proud as a horse with a bearin' rein, an' used to walk somethin' like it, too. He was so proud that when any of our neighbours had visitors from the country or from Brixton or any of those outlandish places, they used to say:

"'After you've had a cup o' tea, Maria, I'll take you round an' point out Clark, the haughty man.'

"There me father used to sit on the doorstep of Clark Hall, Kingsland-road, with his pipe in his mouth, an' his nose in the air, ignorin' the common people.

"'Good-evenin', Mr. Clark,' they used to say, respectful, but he'd take no notice.

"Good-evenin', Mr. Clark," they used to
say, respectful, but he'd take no notice.

"'Fine weather, sir,' they'd say, but not a move did me father make, only cockin' his nose further into the air.

"'We was thinkin',' they'd say, 'of askin' you to honour us with your company at the Kingsland Arms.'

"That used to interest me father, an' he'd turn to me mother—this was before I was born—an' say very loudly:

"'Well,' he'd say, gettin' up, 'as they seem respectable, I'll oblige 'em; but just tell 'em, Emma, from me, that they mustn't presume.'

"An' off he'd go to the Kingsland Arms, an' stand in the corner drinkin' beer with a sneer on his handsome face till it came his turn to pay, an' then he'd go home an' go to bed.

"Father was too proud to work, an' too much of a gentleman to beg, but what he used to say was, 'Emma,' he sez, solemn, 'I trust to me good fairy,' an' I must say his good fairy worked hard—especially at nights.

"Sometimes mother would wake up in the mornin' an' find two or three rolls of flannel in the parlour. Sometimes it was boots, once it was a lot of lead pipin' that the good fairies took out of an empty house an' put in our backyard. Once the good fairies brought a policeman, an' father went away into the country for six months, but the good fairies brought him back again after a bit.

"They hadn't treated him as well as they might, these fairies. They'd bit his hair off till it was quite short; but me father, in spite of his haughtiness, wasn't wild with 'em, but said he'd give 'em another chance.

"One day after this, when we was livin'—not me, because I wasn't born—in Clark's Hall, Hatcliffe Highway, father, who'd been to see his uncle, who was soldierin' in the Fifth, come back home very excited.

"'The regiment's goin' to Aldershot,' he sez, 'an' the regimental chest is packed on the back of the furniture van that's movin' 'em—I hope it don't get lost,' he sez, thoughtful.

"Now, the rum thing about that box was that it did get lost," said Nobby seriously; "an' I've had the bit of paper describin' how it disappeared for years.

"'Whilst the stores of the Fifth Fusiliers was bein' taken to Waterloo last night, some scoundrel managed to abstract from the van the regimental chest, an' got clear away with it. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you can take it how you like, the box contained the attestation papers an' regimental records. In view of the recent fire at the War Office which destroyed the Record Office, this brave regiment is now in an embarrassin' position.'

"That's as far as I can remember how the paper went, an' mother's often told me what a ghastly sight father was, sittin' in the back kitchen burnin' papers an' cussin' somethin' horrid.

"It was a long time after that, years an' years, when I joined the army, as I previously told you, an' I remembered nothin' at all about the robbery, an' anyway, me father bein' such a proud man, I'd never have thought of remindin' him. After I enlisted he got prouder than ever, an' wouldn't even wash himself with his own hands.

"'It's no good talkin', Nobby," he sez, 'I'm a proud man. When your Uncle Joe dies—he came into a bit o' money after he joined the army—'

"Fifth Fusiliers,' he sez, with a cough, 'the same regiment that lost its chest when it was goin' to Aldershot—when he dies I shan't have to work for me livin'.'

"'No he ain't,' sez me father, 'he's still in the army, though I can't understand why, because his time was up years an' years ago, an' he ought to have died respectable like anyone else.'

"It was curious that soon after that father died. He went out one day in a boat to shoot whales an' wasn't seen any more, an' mother drew the £20 from the insurance company, an' the £10 from the Ancient Order of Tired Workers, an' the £12 from the Toilers' Help Society, an' went off. She had a bit of trouble in gettin' the money, because father was only just entitled to draw, bein' a fairly new member.

"'Don't you give me any of your lip, young man,' sez me mother, 'or I won't insure with you again.'

"Then mother disappeared, an' when I went down on leave—it was just before the regiment sailed for India—the only thing I found was a dozen attestation papers what had evidently been chucked out of father's box before mother took it away.

"I gathered 'em up in memory of father, an' took 'em away. I put 'em in me kit bag, an' forgot all about 'em in the excitement of packin' for India.

"We went to a place in the hills, an' what with the excitement of bein' in a new country, an' seein' all the wonderful sights, the lovely scenery, an' the prickly heat, I thought no more about father. I didn't even know that he'd been pinched for defraudin' the insurance companies, him bein' alive all the time.

"We'd been three days in Magapore, an' was gettin' used to the canteen, when I sees a remarkable sight.

"I was sittin' outside my bungalow when I see a party of soldiers comin' along. There was somethin' about 'em very strange, an' I sez:

"'Oh,' sez the chap I spoke to—one of the 57th Field Battery—'they're the poor old 5th!'

"'Yes,' sez the chap, 'we call 'em the "Old an' Bald"—they lost their attestation papers in '75.'

"The horrow of the situation," said Nobby, with a hushed voice, "began, in a manner of speakin', to dawn on me.

"When I saw them pore old fellers staggerin' down the hill with a young subaltern of about 80 at their head, I thought of all the harm me father had done, an' got quite bitter about it.

"'Why don't the War Office do somethin'?' I sez, but the artillery chap shook his head.

"'The War Office can't do anythin',' he sez, 'only hope for the best, an' these pore old chaps can do that theirselves.'

"I saw a lot of the Fifth after that. They used to come up in the evenin's to our canteen, an' spin yarns about the time when they was happy soldiers with papers like us, an' all the time my conscience was prickin' me about the dozen attestations I had in me kit bag.

"I thought of restorin' 'em to their rightful owners, only when I come to make inquiries I found that the chaps these papers was made out to was all on detachment duty, an' I couldn't get at 'em.

"What seemed most curious to me was the fact that the 'Old an' Bald' didn't die, but, of course, they couldn't; there was no attestation paper to enter it on.

"One night, down in the canteen, I noticed a new face. It was much older than the rest of 'em—a fine old sergeant with long white whiskers.

"'That,' sez the chap I spoke to, 'why, that's Sergeant Clark. He's got money, that chap has, an' he'd have bought his discharge years ago, only his papers are lost, an' there's no way of enterin' his record of services.'

"'Clark,' I sez, 'the name seems familiar—' an' then it suddenly dawned on me—it must be great-uncle Joe!

"'I am, great-uncle,' I sez, an' we shook hands an' started to talk about old times. He didn't remember me very well, owin' to the fact that I wasn't born when he was in England, but he'd heard about me.

"'It's a very sad thing,' he sez, shakin' his head, 'that I can't leave my money to you, great-nephew,'

"'You can't leave money if you can't leave the world,' he sez, 'an' I can't, owin' to that unfortunate accident to them attestation papers. Nobby,' he sez, solemn, 'I shall believe till my last—I mean as long as I live—that your father pinched them papers.'

"'You're a dutiful son,' he sez, 'to call him thief. I should have called him a wall-eyed thief, but perhaps you're right.'

"'Great-uncle,' I sez, for I began to remember that one of the attestation papers in my bag was for a feller named Clark, 'great-uncle, suppose I could get you that paper—the one that was pinched.'

"'If you did,' he sez, in a highly agitated way, 'I'd moke it worth your while.'

"I don't want," said Private Clark, looking pensively across the sea, "to prolong what I might call the agony, but to cut a long story short, I went into me bungalow, had a dekko at the papers, a' sure enough there it was, 'Private J. Clark.'

"I looks over it careful. There it was, his name, where he was born and why, his age or otherwise, his occupation if any or ever, his next of kin—

"I stopped dead. His next of kin! Now, who was his next of kin? There wasn't any name on the sheet, so I puts the paper in my pocket an' goes down to see great-uncle Joe.

"Great-uncle," I sez, "am I your next of kin?"

"'Nor father either,' he sez. 'Nobby, I want to break it to you. In my wanderin' I've accumulated a family—I had nothin' else to do,' he sez.

"'Well,' he sez, slowly, 'me boy Bill will be 65 next month, Tom will be 48 come March, Jim will be 7 next birthday, an' the baby's—'

"'That'll do.' I sez, scrunchin' the paper up in me pocket, 'that'll do, great-uncle,' I sez. You're not fit to die. You go on livin'. You've got too many responsibilities—an' heirs,' I sez 'Old an' Bald? Old an' Bold, you wicked old gentleman.'

"I don't know what become of 'em, but I know they made a new regiment up at home, but the boys of the old brigade are still goin' strong—they're stationed at Hoo-choo now. Me uncle was made colour-sergeant on his 97th birthday."

6. — THE LIBELLER.

First published in Ideas, 18 Aug 1909

I CANNOT subscribe to all that Private Clark tells of his extraordinary parent. I say this in self-defence, just as an editor prefaces the view of an emphatic correspondent with the cautious italics: "The views expressed hereunder are not necessarily those of the Slocum Herald." Yet I have a feeling, and sometimes a very sad feeling, that there is in his extravagant reminiscence the basis of truth. If I am to believe Nobby, his father was a wonderful man, and if he speaks in terms of pride, the pride is pardonable, only, it seems, there is something sardonic in that pride of his.

"Talkin' about writin'," said Nobby, one day, when we were discussing the art of lying in print, "me father was a great writer. He'd got a trick, if I might call it, of sayin' the right thing at the right time that must have saved him hundreds of pounds. We've got thousands of cousins in our family that was always gettin' married, an' the artful way they used to write to me father, throwin' out hints that they'd like a weddin' present, was only equalled by the artful way me father used to write back wishin' them many happy returns of the day an' hopin' that all their troubles would be little ones. Me cousin Matilda was the only one who wasn't put off by a kind letter, an' she wrote plump an' plain that she'd like somethin' to show.

"'Don"t send fish knives,' she sez, 'send me a present I can wear. I should like somethin' for the neck.'

"He used to make money writin'. Sometimes he was a widder with four small children, sometimes he was a broken-down army officer, sometimes he wanted money for the Oujeemoo Islanders, to lead 'em out of the darkness, an' the postal orders an' stamps an' things he used to get was astoundin'. I've seen him go down to Kempton Park for a quiet day in the country, with his pockets regularly bulgin' with letters beginnin':

"'Sainted sir,—I regret you are a poor curate with a large family, an' I hope your ingrowin' toe-nail will soon be better. I enclose 4s........'

"Sometimes he drew blank. Once he wrote to a sportin' gentleman to say he was in bed with housemaid's knee, an' the gent, wrote back to ask where was the rest of the housemaid. But, generally, the old ladies an' gentlemen he wrote to used to come down handsome; an' the only serious errow he made was when he worked off the widder an' four children racket on the Bishop of London, an' consequently got pinched.

"'Nobby,' he sez, when I saw him just before he went away to Pentonville Palace, 'never carry the war into the enemy's country; write to bishops about soldiers, an' to generals about curates, but keep clear of curates when you're writin' to bishops.'

"Nobby," he sez, when I saw him just before he went away to
Pentonville Palace, "never carry the war into the enemy's country."

"I never had to write to bishops, so, in a manner of speakin', his advice wasn't worth two penn'orth of snuff, but where it came in handy was to pass on, in a manner of speakin', to my feller sufferers.

"When we was stationed in South Africa before the war, as Smithy will tell you, the hard thing to do was to find somethin' to pass the time between pay days, an' whilst some fellers used to go for a walk, an' others play 'banker,' a few of the more intellectual chaps like myself used to go in for writin'.

"Sometimes a feller would write a bit about the regimental cricket an' put it into the Cape Times, or perhaps a chap would send a letter about how the landlord of the Hopstein Arms wouldn't serve him owin' to his bein' drunk, an' sign it 'One who is proud to wear the Royal Uniform.'

"I did a bit that way meself," confessed Nobby modestly, "but I never took up writin' seriously till 'B' Company was sent on detachment to Simonstown, an' that's where, in a manner of speakin', my literary life began.

"I hadn't been in Simonstown long before I met Mr. Shamble, Mr. Booby Shamble, a ferret-faced young civilian who was immensely respected by all the tradesmen in the town. He couldn't walk down the High-street without all the fellers who kept shops comin' out an' shakin' him warmly by the hand to ask him when he was goin' to pay. I met him by accident. He'd gone up the Red Hill to commit suicide with a revolver, but missed hisself owin' to bein' a bad shot. He missed hisself, but nearly got me, an' after a few words, durin' which I managed to give him a clever idea of what I thought of him, we became friends.

He told me the reason he was committin' suicide was the horrid way people he owed money to was botherin' him. At that time I was a bit short of money, an' consequently I had a feller-feelin' for him.

"He found me sittin' down in the field writin' a few complimentary remarks about the winner of the hundred yard sprint. I knew a lot about this feller, owin' to it bein' me. Mr. Shamble read what I wrote, an' was much impressed.

"You're the man I've been lookin' for,' he sez, an' then he told me that he'd got over all his troubles—his furniture bein' in his wife's name, an' was goin' to start a newspaper, the 'Simonstown Mercury.'

"'I don't know anythin' about writin',' he sez, 'but I can get the ads, an' that's the only clever part about runnin' a paper,' he sez.

"Not havin' had any previous experience of editin' a newspaper, I agreed. He hadn't got any money, but somehow he got a printer to trust him, an' he took an office in Simonstown, an' we started in to bring out the paper.

"It was highly amusin'. I used to go down to the office every evenin' I was not for guard, an' write, an' Mr. Shamble used to come in an' tell me what to write.

"'I couldn't get an advertisement out of Baker Brothers,' he'd say, 'so you'd better write somethin' like this:

"'We strongly advise our readers to have nothin' to do with Baker Bros. We have had their sugar analysed an' our Champion Private Analyser what we keep in our office found prussic acid an' other harmful chemicals in the same.'

"One week we had a half-page advertisement of a firm called Bowls an' Bowls, an' we had a paragraph:

"'The highly enterprisin' firm of Bowls an' Bowls is a credit to the world. This noble-hearted firm is known all over the world as the fairest an' straightest firm of wine an' spirit merchants in existence.'

"Next week, when Bowls an' Bowls found our circulation wasn't 100,000 they wouldn't pay the ad. We gave 'em a week to settle, an' then we had another paragraph:

"'Beware of Bowls an' Bowls! We warn our readers that since publishin' a few lines about this firm of beer merchants we've found out somethin' about them that is too terrible to print.'

"'That'll make 'em pay,' sez Shamble, but somehow it didn't. In three weeks we'd got more libel actions against us than we'd room for, but Shamble wasn't a bit upset.

"'Law's a very slow thing,' he sez, 'an' we're gettin' a lot of ready money advertisin', so as long as you're drawn' your pound a week, you needn't worry; we shall be bust before the actions come on.

"It was great sport runnin' the paper, because I could put things in about the regiment. I used to run military notes, an' that was where I come unstuck.

"One day, goin' up to the office, I was so wrapped in me thoughts that I didn't notice the Admiral—Simonstown's a naval station—an' next mornin' I was pulled up before the company officer on a 'crime' for not havin' saluted my superior officer.

"'It's a serious thing.' sez the company officer, 'an' if it occurs again you'll get into serious trouble.'

"I was a bit wild over this, an' when I got down to my office again I told Shamble about it.

"'It's a disgrace,' he sez; 'what's an admiral anyway? I wrote to him for tickets to his garden party, an' he wrote back to say he'd never heard of me. That shows what a cad he is—write a leadin' article about him.'

"So I sat down an' wrote a leadin' article titled 'Sea Dogs,' an' I underlined 'Dogs.' It was a bit mustard. I wrote about his early life, how he'd been locked up for chicken-stealin'—

"'In fact,' I wrote, 'a feller with a face like he's got couldn't help bein' what he is.'

"'Quite right,' sez Shamble, 'you've got what I'd like to describe as the literary touch—only say somethin' about his drinkin', so I put that bit in too.

"The article created a great sensation. The sale of the 'Mercury' went up, an' Shamble was so pleased that he raised my salary to 30s. a week.

"It didn't do me much good, because I must have got light-headed, an' went from admirals to the other fellers.

"The things I said about Rosebery an' Balfour an Chamberlain was horrid, but Shamble liked it.

"'You can't go wrong cussin' both, sides,' he sez. 'We're an independent paper.'

"So I went on cussin' both sides, an' we got a great reputation for fairness. It seems an easy thing to get. We'd been goin' on like this for a month, an' it began to get near the time when our libel cases would come into court. Shamble began lookin' up the next boat for England, an' started gettin' the money in that was due on past advertisements, an' I prepared meself for a final bust. I looked round for somethin' to abuse, an' I chose the admiral. He was a lovin' subject, an' I sat down to bite me pen an' work out an article. It was a difficult job, because all the hard things I wanted to say, such as 'putty-faced dog,' an' 'hob-nailed thief,' I'd used in dealin' with the other gents.

"I was sittin' in the little office of the paper in me shirt sleeves, whilst old Shamble was busy burnin' the writs in the back room, when the door opened an' in walked the admiral's flag lieutenant, a great big feller six feet somethin', an' strong enough to lift a battleship. He had a paper in his hand.

"'Somebody,' sez he, lookin' at me, 'has been writin' a scurrilous article about me fallin' off a horse.'

"'Yes,' I sez, very dignified, but shakin' in me boots for fear he'd see the red stripe in me trousers.

His only answer was to land me a slosh that nearly put me out.

"'Big as a house you may be,' I sez, 'an' an officer you may be, but you don't hit me without tastin' some o' the same medicine.'

"'Good lor'!' he gasps, seein' my uniform trousers, 'a soldier,' he sez, 'I can't fight you!'

"'Can't you?' I sez, an' landed him back the biff in the neck he'd lent me, 'we'll settle the officer question afterwards.'

"I never quite remembered what happened, but I recollect bein' led up to the hospital by the officer.

"'Orderly,' sez the officer, 'this poor feller's in great pain. Do somethin' for him.'

7. — THE CUP.

First published in Ideas, 25 Aug 1909

"WHAT you have got to remember about detectivizin'," said Private Clark, wisely, "is that it's a business that gets harder an' harder as the years go on, so to speak. When I was a kid, an' me father was followin' his profession, an' the police was followin' him, they never took him except when they found the goods on him, or else had seen him comin' from the scene of the crime.

"But there's a new way of doin' detective work nowadays. Suppose the police are guardin' the Tsar of Russia. Twenty very special secret police, disguised in yachtin' caps an' police boots, are waitin' for Anarchists on the quay where the steamer comes in.

"He's wearin' a red tie an' horrid whiskers; he's got a revolver in each hand, a knife between his teeth, an' two bombs smokin' in his pocket.

"Hullo," sez the chief of the police, "who are you?"

"'I'm an inspectorski for Socievitch for Preventin' Cruelty to Childrenskoff,' sez the feller, lettin' fall a lot of papers marked all over 'Death to the Tsar!'

"'I thought you was a Methodist preacher,' sez the inspector, an' allows him to land. 'At any rate,' sez the inspector, 'you can't be an Anarchist, or else you'd be dressed like a bishop.'

"So the chap with the bombs, an' the knife, an' the revolvers, goes to the nearest hotel an' signs the visitors' book, 'Dimitri Gorytoff Smith of Moscow and Soho,' an' nobody takes any notice of him.

"The police are awfully busy keepin' the trippers from seein' the Tsar. They're puttin' cordons round him, an' torpedo boats behind him, an' Dreadnoughts in front of him, but when Dimitri Gorytoff Smith comes along an' asks for a pass to the Tsar's yacht they say, 'Certainly—we'll put you in a place where you can see him without bein' seen.'

"So out goes Dimitri, an' when the tragedy comes along the secret police are so busy searchin' the deck of the' 'Dreadnought' for footprints that the inspector on duty hasn't time to come an' say good-bye to the young Woolwich Arsenal that leaves by the three o'clock boat.

"That," explained Nobby, "is the new way of doin' police-work. It's called 'the most unlikely' method, an' consists of lookin' for the last man in the world you'd suspect was guilty.

"When the regiment was in Gibraltar, the East Wessex used to lie alongside of us. They didn't like us very much owin' to a slight misunderstandin' which arose. Our band went down to play 'em in,' an' the tune our bandmaster chose was a tune called 'Wait for the Wagon,' which the Wexes thought was a sort of reflection on their marchin' ability.

"Beyond a few personalities passin' between the regiments, nothin' passed that might be construed (if I might use the word) into meanin' that there was any bad blood.

"The only chap we put through it was a feller named Crumps, who come over one night an' offered to fight the best man in our regiment for a hundred pounds.

"Not havin' that amount handy, our best man took him on for love, an' secured an easy victory in two punishin' rounds.

"I won't deny," added Nobby in a spirit of modesty, "that our best man was me, but that's by the way. The thing I mostly wanted to tell you about the East Wessex was the surprisin' way they lost the Sandford Cup, which was given to the best shootin' regiment on the Rock, an' the surprisin' way I found it—one of the best bits of detective work that's ever been done.

"Everybody knows the Sandford Cup. We held it for two Years in succession owin' to the fact that we was such fine shots, an' then the East Wessex come an' won it.

"They didn't win it fair, because when 'B' Company of the Anchester Regiment was shootin', Billy Cole was under a slight errow.

"The best ten shots of each company had to shoot for the Cup, an' the two regiments, us an' the Wessex, who were firin', went up to the range alternate. I don't know whether Billy Cole, who was the marker, made a mistake an' thought we was the Wessex or not, but certainly, when 'B' Company was firin', we got an extr'ordinary number of misses an' outers, an' in consequence we lost the Cup.*

* This part of Nobby's story is obviously a lie, for an officer would be in charge of the ranges. The Anchesters lost the Cup because on the night previous to competition the "B" Company went on an almighty "jag."—E.W.

"We was all very sore about it, especially me—me bein' the best shot in the regiment—an' especially 'B' Company, who got the blame for losin' it. The adjutant paraded the ten fellers from ' B' Company, an' spoke his mind.

"'I wouldn't have lost that Cup,' he sez, 'for pounds an' pounds; an' just because ten chuckle-headed third-class shots who'd been drunk the night before—who spoke?'

"'Who was drunk,' he sez, 'the night before. What you fellers want is a little extra drill, an' the same will be parcelled out accordin' to regulations.'

"So all that we got was an hour's drill every day, to the great delight of the young recruits.

"The day the Wessex came over to our sergeants' mess to take away the Cup was a sad one for all parties.

"'I dessay,' sez our sergeant, 'we shan't miss it—we've got so many. It'll be a perfect blessin' to you, havin' none at all.'

"'Great Fire of London?' asks our sergeant; 'because I don't remember that the Wessex won anythin' except in a raffle.'

"With such light-hearted talk the Cup was passed over an' the Wessex sergeant went back to his barracks with it under his arm.

"As far as we know, the Cup got back safe, but when the sergeant told his pals about the sneerin' remarks that had been made about their sideboard, the first thing the sergeants did was to call a special committee meetin' of the mess, an' it was decided to buy some second-hand cups to prevent the Sandford Cup from feelin' lonely. As luck would have it, there was a curio shop off Waterport, an' the deputation got a dozen old mugs, that looked like silver, at a knock-out price.

"I happened to know all about it, because I knew the second-hand dealer, an' me an' Smithy was highly amused when he told us about it.

"'The rum thing about the Sandford Cup,' sez the curio feller, 'is that there's two of 'em.'

"'It's a fact,' sez the curio feller. 'Major Sandford, who gave the Cup five years ago, ordered it from the jewellers, an' by some mistake two cups was sent out. The jeweller couldn't sell it, an' only the other day he was askin' me if I'd like to take it over at a price.'

"'Ho!" I sez, an' out I goes, me an' Smithy an' up we nipped to our sergeants' mess.

"'Let by-gones be by-gones, Colour-Sergeant,' I sez, earnest. 'I've got somethin' to tell you.' So I told him all about the second cup, an' he nodded.

"The long an' the short of it was that the sergeants clubbed together an' bought it, an' sent a polite letter over to the Wessex askin' 'em to give us the loan of the Cup, because we wanted to photograph it. The reply they sent by word of mouth was so insultin' that our sergeant-major asked 'em to put it into writin', but they didn't.

"What we wanted was to get the inscription on the Cup, because we wanted to get it exact; but the Wessex didn't know that, but thought we wanted to show the Cup an' pretend it was still ours.

"Our sergeant sent another note, but the Wessex took no notice, an' then our sergeant-major sent for me.

"'Well,' he sez, 'I want you to think out a way by which we can get the Sandford Cup. I don't want it stolen; I don't want it taken without the Wessex permission. At the same time I don't want the Wessex to know that we've got the temp'ry loan of it.'

"'Miracles,' I sez, 'I've been in the habit of pullin' off three times out of four. I've got medals at home for some of the miracles I've done—'

"'Naturally, sir,' I sez, an' off I went to the Wessex canteen to get the lay of the land.

"In the mornin'," said Nobby solemnly, "there was a great agitation in the Wessex Regiment—the Sandford Cup was gone!

"It was a terrible business, an' created a lot of excitement, especially amongst the Wessex. They called in the police. The Cup had been on the sergeants' mess sideboard when the mess closed. It wasn't there when the mess opened. They got a Gibraltar detective up, an' he said that the Cup must have been stolen. He also said that it must have been stolen between the last time it had been seen an' the first time it wasn't seen. One of the Wessex sergeants came over to our men an' sez plump an' plain:

"'It's my belief that the Anchesters know where that Cup is,' sez the Wessex chap.

"'They knows where it ought to be,' sez Sergeant Morris. 'if it hadn't been for an accident. It ought to be on the sideboard of a mess that could look after it,' he sez; "but,' sez Sergeant Morris, 'if you've really lost your Cup, we've got a young feller in this battalion who's a bit of a genius, and I've no doubt that if you put all the facts in front of him, he'll help get your Cup back.'

"'Private Clark,' sez our sergeant, 'the son of one of the most famous detectives of our day—Sherlock Clark, of Scotland Yard, an' other aliases.'

"That night I was sent for to the Wessex mess. The Gibraltar detectives had found three clues, an' every one of 'em led to a public-house, an' it was gettin' a bit expensive.

"'Private Clark,' sez the sergeant-major of the Wessex, 'we've sent for you, because there's a good old sayin', "set a thief to catch a thief," an' we want to see how it works.'

"'Thank you, sir,' I sez, 'detectivizin' is an 'obby of mine, an' I'll do me best to oblige, thankin' you one an' all for past favours, an' hopin' by constant attention to business to merit your kind support."

"First of all I examined the room, then I examined the shelf where the Cup was, then I inspected the outside of the buildin', then I turned to go home.

"'The clue, sir?' I sez, very dignified. 'I've got a dozen. The murder was commuted by a one-legged man with a glass eye. He's got whiskers, an' talks in his sleep.'

"The Wessex didn't report the matter to headquarters, because they didn't want to advertise the fact that they'd lost a Cup that they'd only just won, an' so I had plenty of time to get to work—an' so had the jeweller down on the Waterport, who was very busy copyin' the inscription of the old Cup on to the new 'un.

"'The feller that stole this Cup was a soldier,' I sez. 'He got into the mess-room whilst the sergeant-major was standin' a drink to a sergeant in the next room about two o'clock in the mornin'.'

"'A copy,' he sez. 'We wanted to have an exact copy, inscription an' all, an' now we've got it.'

"He showed me 'em, standing side by side on the table of his bedroom, as like as two peas.

"'I don't know how we'll get 'em back,' he sez, 'As a matter of fact, I thought of strollin' to their mess an' leavin' the Cup on the winder-sill, tappin' on the window an' boltin'; but perhaps I'd better leave it to you.'

"So I went away to think out a plan for puttin' the Cup back, an' after a two hours' think I decided I'd do the successful detective art. So I nipped over to Sergeant Morris's quarters. He wasn't in, but his door was unfastened, an' I stepped into the bedroom, an' groped round for the Cup. I found it easy, put it under my overcoat, an' walks boldly over to the Wessex lines.

"'Be'old!' I sez, an' produced it all bright an' shinin'. 'Don't ask me where I got it: I've risked me life, me reputation, an' one pound four an' six, which I hope will be paid, to get this Cup. I've faced deadly perils, an'—'

"'Stop a bit,' sez the sergeant-major in a hushed voice. 'Gentlemen,' he sez, pointin' to me, 'this is the greatest detective of the age.'

"'He not only finds what's lost,' sez the sergeant-major, 'but finds it twice over.'

"'Twice over,' sez the sergeant-major, solemn. 'Half an hour ago someone tapped at the winder. We opened it, an' there was the Cup.'

"Then I saw the other dashed Cup
standin' proudly on the sideboard."

"'An' now,' sez the S.M., 'in he comes with the Cup all over again—its wonderful.'

"'Oh, no, you won't," sez the sergeant-major, shakin' his head. 'We'll keep 'em both; they'll make a pretty pair.'"

8. — THE DASH OF GENERAL OOSH.

First published in Ideas, 01 Sep 1909

"I'VE always liked Spain," confessed Private Clark. "Long before I ever went to Gibraltar I liked it. Why, when I was a kid up at Oxford, it was me favourite country—it was so easy to draw. Similarly, I always hated Scotland because it's so frayed round the edges.

"'I can't understand, Clark,' sez a relieving officer once. 'why you don't get somethin' to do.'

"'I mean work,' sez the relievin' officer; 'a great, strong chap like you ought to scorn idleness.'

"'It's me Spanish blood,' sez me father; 'I'm partly Spanish an' partly Socialist.'

"There was a lot of truth in what father said. He was a very proud man, as I've told you before, an' was quick to take offence.

"'Common or garden bricks,' sez the foreman, ' an' me father would shake his bead.

"'That's not the kind of work I want,' he'd say sad; 'carryin' bricks makes me head ache.'

"Father was a surveyor by trade. He'd stand with his hands in his pockets an' survey other men workin' by the hour, an' never get tired.

"'They've only got to find the right kind of work for me to do,' he used, to say, 'an' I'll do it. But these people haven't got imagination, like I have. I'm a schemer; I'm a Brain; an' it's like puttin' a racehorse to the plough to ask me to carry bricks.'

"In a sense me father was a mystery, because nobody ever discovered the kind of work he liked. They tried him with everythin', from makin' mats to snow-shovellin'. The mats he had to make, bein' at a Government school at the time, but he never quite got into the snow-shovellin' humour before the summer holidays began. Then he'd take hold of a shovel an' go out lookin' for snow, but by this time, the only snow available was on the top of Monty Blank, an' he'd come home utterly worn out.

"When we was out in South Africa durin' the war, we had a General in charge of us who was like me father in disposition. His name was Oosh—Major-General Oosh—an' he was a member of the celebrated family of Oosh, of Shropshire. He was a fat General who'd written a book on the Navy, so naturally, when the war broke out, the War Office fell over itself in persuadin' him to take a command. The idea nearly fell through owin' to there not bein' a horse big enough, an' strong enough, to carry him, but he got over that by havin' a special Cape-cart fitted. It had special springs, an' special mules to pull it, an' special Scotch in the locker under the seat.

"He was the fiercest General you ever saw, with his carpet-sweeper moustache on' his red face, an' the first thing he did when he got to us—our brigade was on its lonely in the Northern Transvaal at the time—was to build a house, an' settle down.

"'That depends on the enemy,' sez the General, 'but we can only hope for the best—do you play bridge, Colonel?'

"We never went out to look for the foe, because our fat General thought they was beneath his notice—he was a proud man, too, like me father.

"'I've sent 'em my card,' he sez, 'an' if they ever want a gory battle they know where they can find it.'

"So we all settled down, an' quite a peaceful village grew up. We called it Ooshdorp, the Garden City. We never saw the enemy an' we began to forgot there was any war goin' on. The officers used to cuss the General somethin' frantic. They called him everythin' in the farmyard except a duck, but he went on so taken up with doublin' no trumps an' returnin' his partner's lead, that he didn't notice that he was to a certain extent unpopular.

"He used to walk every mornin' through our lines an' ask how our flowers was growin'.

"We started a sewin' circle an' a debatin' club, an' Spud Murphy knitted a beautiful woolly mat with 'Peace, perfect Peace' on it.

"One night I'd retired to me tent after an exhaustive evenin' at the camp spellin'-bee, an' me an' Smithy was discussin' whether 'balance' should be spelt with two 'l's' or three, when all of a sudden Smithy sat up from the ground.

"'Somebody's firin',' sez Smithy, an' we jumped up an' got into our clothes as the Anchesters' bugle sounded the 'fall in.' As we reached parade, I heard somebody say that the enemy was attackin' our right.

"It was the Anchesters that held the right, an' the enemy may be said to have been a trifle unfortunate in comin' against a lot of chaps who was feelin' sore, owin' to their not havin' got prizes at the Ooshdorp Flower Show. At any rate, the enemy was checked, an' the artillery had time to get their horses from the trainin' stables—we was goin' to run the Ooshdorp Handicap the next day if the attack hadn't been made—an' generally we were able to form. By dawn, led by the Anchesters we forced the enemy back.

"'Whatever you do,' sez the General addressin' the troops from his bedroom window, 'whatever you do, don't offend these Boers; they've left us alone for two months, an' one good turn deserves another. If you see the commandant you might ask him to look us up—in a perfectly peaceful way....'

"Whatever you do," sez the General addressin' the troops from his
bedroom window, 'whatever you do, don't offend these Boers."

"We didn't hear what else he said, owin' to our Colonel sayin' in a loud voice, 'Charge magazines an' give 'em hell!' which we did to the best of our ability.

It wasn't a long fight, because it wasn't a big commando, an' we got 'em runnin' pretty quick. We got back to camp to find the General in a terrible state of mind. He was runnin' in an' out the house like a big ant.

"'This is awful,' be sez; 'nothin' like this has happened to me in all me forty years of soldierin'! Oh dear! oh dear! Pack the furniture, James, put the asparagus in me hat box, an' the old port under the cushion.'

"'We do,' sez the General, all of a shake, 'but I'll take bloomin' good care I don't make the same mistake twice—I'm goin' to find a place where the Boers won't find us,' he sez.

"'I'll find a nice, quiet place where the Boers won't think of lookin' for us,' sez the General. 'You can tell your men that owin' to circumstances over which I've got no control, the choir practice is postponed until Thursday.'

"So off we marched, with, the General's collapsible house on a bullock wagon. Poor Tubby White had to leave behind his prize dandelion that he'd reared, an' Monkey Jackson, in the excitement of movin', lost two balls of wool that he was knittin' a tea-cosy with, but we got off without accident.

"We halted in the afternoon, an' the General had a Council-of-War-an'-How-to-Avoid-It.

"'What we've got to do,' sez the General, 'is to find a nice green spot facin' north, with a gravel soil an' a view of the surroundin' country.'

"'I understand you, sir,' sez our Adjutant. 'standing in its own grounds, well watered an' timbered, 999 years lease, unexpired.'

"'That's it exactly,' sez the General; 'you're one of the best strategists I've met.'

"'Let me see,' sez our Adjutant musin', 'there's a place called Van Bogey's Kloof.'

"'There would be,' sez our Adjutant, 'if there was any river—only, unfortunately, all the water goin' has to be got out of a well.'

"That satisfied the General, an' he would have started at once, only our Adjutant said it would be better to march by night.

"'I don't like night marches,' sez the General, rather troubled; 'you can't see where you're goin', an' the doctor said I wasn't to stay out at nights.'

"'That's all right, sir,' sez the Adjutant; 'we'll wrap you up an' you can go to sleep in your cart.'

"That satisfied the old man, an' as soon as the sun went down we began our trek.

"'Whatever you do,' sez the General, just before we started, 'keep away from the Boers.'

"I don't know much about Van Bogey's Kloof," said Private Clark, "except that it was somewhere in the north, but I do know this, that in the direction we ought to have gone, there was no more chance of meetin' the enemy than of meetin' the Shah of Persia, yet when the mornin' sun got up, lo! and behold! we came slap into a burghers' camp!

"'Hi, hi! what the devil's the meanin' of this?' roars the General when the firin' started.

"'Very sorry, sir,' sez the Adjutant, 'but I think the enemy is tryin' to cut us off.'

"Whilst it lasted it was a nice fight, an' we captured two guns, a Maxim, an' several unimportant human bein's, an' camped on the place we fought.

"The poor old General was so upset that he had only one helpin' of Patty de foi grass for lunch.

"That night we began our march by starlight, an' the General, before he turned in, said that 'Thank heavens we was gettin' out of the danger zone.'

"But at dawn next mornin', bang we came into another commando, an', to my mind, it looked suspiciously like the lot we fought the previous day.

"We drove the commando off, pinched its convoy an' another gun, an' settled down for the day.

"That night we marched again an' had no luck, for we found no Boers in the mornin'. The Adjutant looked disappointed, but the General was highly pleased.

"But the next mornin' we bumped into the biggest thing in commandoes you could imagine—De la Rey's lot, with six guns, an' they stood. Old De la Rey wasn't with his men himself, or it might have gone groggy with us, but we carried their position at the point of the bayonet, an' took two guns.

"Poor old General Oosh! When the battle started he nearly died. Everythin' was goin' wrong. He was doin' work he didn't want to do; he was endangerin' his health, an' was goin' from bad to worse.

"'Accordin' to my reckonin',' he sez, 'we are now about ten minutes' walk from Van Bogey's Kloof—'

"'I'll give you one more chance,' sez the General, very solemn, an' if you don't find that quiet place I'll chuck you over, an' get another strategist,' an' with that the Council-of-War-Perhaps broke up.

"Anybody who knows anythin' about the South African war," said Nobby Clark, "knows how all the little commandoes concentrated north of Pretoria an' how Kitchener's Scouts, a column of M.I. an' Henniker's Column went out to smash 'em up. I've got an idea that our Adjutant knew somethin' about it, because just before sunset, a helio on a mountain about fifty miles away was winkin' an' blinkin' like mad, an' our Adjutant was readin' its message most careful. I couldn't make out its meanin', for, by rights we ought to have been out of sight of any heliograph, an' hundreds of miles from the nearest British column.

"We started our march when the sun went down, an' moved with only two short rests. I don't know what would have happened only the General woke up before daylight, an' couldn't got to sleep again. So he sat in his cart, an' by-an'-bye, the east began to get white.

"He must have sat watchin' it for a long time, when suddenly he jumped up with a yell:

"'Fetch the Adjutant of the Anchester Regiment!' he roars, an' Captain Umfreville, who had been leadin' the column, came gallopin' back.

"'Now, sir!' yells the General, dancin' about in his Cape-cart, 'what d'ye mean, sir? we're movin' south, not north!

"'There you are!' screams General Oosh; 'you've led us into it! By gad, sir, I'll court-martial you!'

"'Let em!' sez General Oosh; 'let 'em! If they don't know when they're well off!'

"The sun was up now, an' you could see the British troops creepin' round the kopjes that held the Boers.

"'Let 'em,' sez General Oosh. ' I'm goin' to pretend I don't see it—like Nelson did,' he sez.

"'To General,' reads the Adjutant, 'take your men into action, an' support the scouts.'

"'I won't!' says General Oosh, very vi'lent. 'Send him a message, an' ask who the blazes he is; an' what he means by orderin' me about?'

"So our signaller flashed the message, an' all the time the guns were goin' somethin' furious.

"'He's answerin',' sez the Adjutant, an' spelt out the letters the signaller was sendin' back

"I won't tell you how we came up on the left of the scouts, an' how the Anchesters an' the West Surreys took the hill; but, after it was all over an' the Boer position was captured, General O. was sent for to headquarters, an' he went, more dead than alive.

"There was Kitchener tall an' broad, on' wearin' his usual who-the-devil-are-you expression.

"'Didn't expect to meet you so far south,' sez K., 'until I heard how splendidly you've been hustlin' the commandoes.'

"'You've done splendid work,' sez K., 'the Boers say you've been follerin' 'em, an' givin' 'em no rest.'

"'I shall mention your services,' sez K., 'an' I congratulute you on your dash.'

"General Oosh said nothin'; no more did our Adjutant, who was standin' by tryin' to look pleased."

9. — THE WIGSHIRE FAIRIES.

First published in Ideas, 08 Sep 1909

"ME father," said Private Clark, "was a rare feller for buyin' things he didn't want, such is patent articles of every kind. Sometimes mother used to trust him to do the shoppin', an' out he'd go with eighteen pence an' a light heart.

"'Be sure, Clarence,' she'd say, 'be sure you don't forget the bread an' the potatoes—a cottage loaf an' four pounds of spuds, an' ask the man at the greengrocer's to give you a little bit of parsley.'

"'Certainly, Ethel,' father would say—a very perlite man was father. He'd be back in twenty minutes as proud as Punch, without the bread an' without the potatoes.

"'Ethel,' sez me father, solemn, 'don't let's talk about 'em. I've got somethin' for the eighteen pence that'll fill your heart with joy, an' your mind with lovin' kindness.'

"'This ain't an ordinary razor,' sez me father, with a quiet, sad smile; 'this is also a magnet—it picks up tacks from the floor. Suppose you drop your collar-stud, you just run this razor over the floor an' it finds the stud. Suppose you want to find a needle—you just put this razor near the needle an' the needle flies to it. Also it'll shave you at a pinch,' he sez.

"Or perhaps it would be a patent filter that you fasten on to the tap, or a patent fountain-pen that emptied itself in a flash. Father couldn't be trusted to do the shoppin', because you was never sure whether he'd come back with the joint or a clockwork engine.

"'It's very little I ask you to do, Clarence,' she sez. 'I do the washin' an' keep the family, an' pay for your 'bacca, an' keep the home together whilst you're away learnin' mat-makin', an' the least you can do is to shop accordin' to orders.'

"I used to think that father's habit of goin' out to buy one kind of thing an' gettin' another was a habit he'd invented himself, but when I went out into the world an' saw the rum kind of wives some fellers get, an' the strange chaps girls get married to, I realised that father's habit was only human nature.

"I realise now that a chap hasn't got to worry about the thing he started out to get, but what he actually does get.

"A feller was talkin' to me the other day about Lieutenant What's-his-name, who went out to plant the Union Jack on the South Pole.

"'He didn't get there,' sez the chap, very gloomy, 'so I can't see what all the fuss is about.'

"I haven't had Lieutenant What-dye-call-him's book, but I'm very anxious to, me knowin' somethin' of the horrows of the explorer's life," said Nobby, modestly, "an' the tale I'm goin' to tell you has never appeared in print before.

"Very few people know of the Nobby Clark expedition into the New Forest. It's been kept quiet.

"The time I'm speakin' of we was stationed in Aldershot—this was years an' years ago—under the Duke of Connaught, an' the work was very hard, owin' to the Duke havin' an idea that a soldier's principal job was soldierin,' an' keepin' us at it from early morn to dewy eve.

"Nobody likes work, if they're human, but somehow we didn't mind bein' sent from one end of Hampshire to another, an' the only chap that groused was Simsey, our regimental photographer, because he hadn't time to take photographs.

"It was a bit hard on him, because in a manner of speakin' we'd not finished the first lot of manœuvres before we started on the second, an' we hadn't finished the second before we was in the middle of the third, but Simsey carried his little portable camera around, hopin' against hope that the Duke would give us five minutes' rest.

"At last one day we got it. We was goin' into the New Forest, an' our brigade bein' broken up, owin' to the East Surrey Regiment bein' ordered to Malta, we sat down an' waited for the Wigshires to join us.

"Now, anybody who knows the Army knows the Wigs, an' anybody who knows the Wigs is acquainted with the blankiest, swankiest, most talkative an' boastacious regiment in the Army. They are great dashers. They dash after the enemy in war time, an' dash back again as soon as they find that what they mistook for a Boer spy was really a donkey what got loose from the transport lines. They started off once to make an experimental march, a dashin' experimental march. They was goin' to march from Dover to London, an' they dashed off from Dover at the rate of six miles an hour. They got to London in record time—four hours, which ain't bad for sixty miles, is it? They went by train, owin' to the regiment breakin' down from sore feet eight miles out of Dover. So when we heard that the dashin' Wigs was comin' along we all sat down an' worried ourselves to death nearly, because it ain't that the Wigs give themselves trouble—they bring worry to other people.

"Well, not to spin out the yarn, the Wigs arrived, an' Simsey got his camera and snapped 'em when they was marchin' into camp. I don't know why he did it; he didn't know himself, but that snapshot of the Wigs as they marched along into camp was one of the most valuable old Simsey ever took.

"'Well, here we are,' sez the Wig. 'You can't do without us; can't carry on the manœuvres without the old Wigshires!'

"I didn't want to hear anythin' more about him an' his regiment, so I said nothin'.

"'Do you know anythin' about the idea of these manœuvres?' he sez, an' when I shook me head, he said pityingly. 'Of course, they wouldn't tell you,' an' he sat down to explain all about it. How the Kents an' the Sussexes were holdin' the right an' the Lancs, an' the Dubs, was holdin' the left.

"But it appears that the Wigshires had been brought down for a special purpose—to guide the attackin' force! To guide 'em through the Forest so as the army shouldn't get lost! It sounded like a bit out of a comic paper, but it was true. From what I heard, the Colonel of the Wigshires knew the country rather well about the New Forest, an' owin' to the other regiments bein' strange to the ground the Wigs were chosen.

"'Keep close to us,' they shouted, as they passed our lines; 'we'll see that you don't get into trouble.'

"'Keep your eye on the dashin' Wigs,' sez a corporal to one of our N.C.O.'s; 'they'll pull you through.'

"They were supposed to wait for us two miles inside the forest, but we never found 'em," said Nobby, solemnly. "They disappeared as if they were wiped off the face of the earth. Whether they'd gone in for a dash on their own, an' lost their way back we shall never know.

"Whilst we was standin' there, up comes the G.O.C. (General Officer Commanding).

"We sent out search parties in all directions, but we couldn't find 'em. It cast quite a gloom over the camp.

"'Well wait to see if they turn up to-night, an' if they don't we'll have to put an ad in the paper,' sez the G.O.C.

"An' so we did, an' that's where Simsey's photo came in. The regiment that lorst itself was on every tongue, in a manner of speakin', an' reporters come miles to get one of those pictures—especially when the bit came out in the 'Hampshire News':—

"'Infantry regiment. Answers to the name of "Wig." Last seen making its way to the New Forest. Finder please return to G.O,C. No questions asked.

"Of course, the whole thing was dreadfully upsettin'. Bad as the Wigs was, we couldn't afford to lose 'em, an' when the G.O.C. sent round askin' for volunteers to search the forest, I was one of the first to take me life in me hands an' volunteer.

"'Nobby,' he sez, with tears in his eyes, 'you've got your life-line an' your alpenstock?'

"'You don't want money,' he sez, hastily. 'Go where glory, an' not so much of it, awaits you.'

"You don't want money," he sez, hastily. "Go
where glory, an' not so much of it, awaits you."

"It was dawn," said Nobby, soberly, "when the Nobby Clark New Forest Expedition started. Before me was the dark forest, overhead the Roarin' Borealis, on every side the tents of the troops standin' up like young icebergs.

"Me progress from that moment when I left the world, all rosy like Winston's pink pyjamas, until in the depths of the forest I came upon the trace of the missin' regiment, is best told by extracts from me diary (copyright) or log.

"8 a.m.—Wind N.S.W. Temperature 15.2. and 15.4. No sign of the Wigs. Can they be here? I fear the worst. Had breakfast.

"9 a.m.—Wind increasin'. Finished breakfast, buried the remains. Still no sign of the Wigs. Oh, heavens.

"10 a.m.—Latitude an' longitude the same as usual. Marched in a westerly direction (or it might have been northerly). Still no sign of the Wigs. Wrote the first chapter of me book, 'Alone in the Forest with the Wigs.'

"12 noon.—Found a pair of braces in Lat. 314, Long. 719. I am on the track! Wind about the same. Found a water bottle filled with beer. I am on the track.

"That's what set me wonderin'—two bottles of beer in an hour; there must be somethin' wrong. So I drank up the beer, to remove temptation from any poor wanderin' soldier, an' sat down with me back to a tree to think out the situation.

"Sitting on a flower quite close at hand was the rummiest soldier I'd ever seen. He was about three inches high. He was dressed in full marchin' order, with a helmet an' a little gun, only where his valise ought to have been was a pair of wings like a butterfly's.

"Nobby," he sez, very gentle, "don't you know me? I'm a Wig."

"'It's easy,' he sez. 'This is a rare place for fairies, an' they're took quite a fancy to us.'

"'All except the sergeant-cook,' sez the fairy-soldier, 'an' he's a caterpillar!'

"'But there'll be a row when the War Office finds this out,' I sez; 'it's against regulations.'

"When I came to myself I was still sitting with me back to the tree, an' there was a bright light in front of me.

"'I thought so,' he sez, bitterly, 'he's been drinkin'. I never thought I should live to be called "fairy" by one of me own men.'

"'In camp four hours ago.' sez the adjutant. 'They went through the forest an' round other side.'

10. — A FAMILY AFFAIR.

First published in Ideas, 15 Sep 1909

I BELIEVE there was trouble in London, Private Smith and Private Clark, of the Anchester Regiment, having had some slight argument with a taxi-cab driver over a fare and a bad shilling. Mostly, I think the disturbance was on account of the shilling, for Nobby confessed afterwards that he had carried it about for a year waiting for an opportunity to place it with some worthy person.

Nobby's explanation—that the shilling must have gone bad since the driver handled it, and that all money is liable to go bad in thundery weather—was not accepted....

"If it had been me father," said Nobby, in relating the circumstances, "there wouldn't have been any argument, because he was a wonderful persuasive man.

"Once he was down at Liverpool Street Station waitin' for a friend, an' bein' an absent-minded feller, what with thinkin' too much, he picked up the wrong portmanteau, an' was walkin' out of the station with it when the lorful owner spotted him.

"'Yes,' sez the lorful owner, 'mine; don't you see the initials on it, "F.K."—Frank King?'

"'Beg pardon,' sez me father, 'I thought it stood for "Findin's Keepin',' an' before the feller could puzzle it out or call a copper me father was runnin' to catch the last bus to Kilburn. Me father had a way of sayin' things which was very convincin'.

"'I've got to convict people, Nobby,' he used to say, 'to prevent 'em from convictin' me.'

"I remember where he told me this: it was in his study in Kilburn. It was a sort of back-room, upstairs, but bein' a proud man he called it 'study,' because that was where he used to study how to avoid the police.

"Just about that time father was what I might call an object of public interest owin' to his glib tongue. Times had been very hard. Father hadn't been workin' at his trade for about thirty-five years—he was a crinoline-maker, an' stopped work when the fashion died out, an' what I might call his side-lines were dull.

"Everywhere he got the frozen face an' the sad smile. If he saw an ole friend comin' along on the other side of the street, he'd cross—so would the ole friend. If he button-holed a chap, the chap would cut the buttons off quick.

"If he stopped a man with a light-hearted smile an' said, 'Splendid weather for the crops,' the man would say, 'I'm very sorry; I'd oblige you with pleasure—only I've just paid me last three ha'pence into the Bank of England, an' I've lost me cheque book.'

"He never really got a chance of 'tellin' the tale,' because they was always in such a hurry, It was:

"'Awfully sorry, Mr Clark, but I've got an appointment with the solicitor whose defendin' me,' or;

"'Can't stop, there's a policeman after me,' an' father began to get dispirited. That's when he hit upon the idea of havin' a fortune left to him.

"So one day mother called in the lady next door who did our manglin', an' told her in strictest confidence that father had been left six hundred pounds by an uncle in Australia.

"'An' whatever you do, Mrs. What's-your-name,' sez me mother, 'don't breathe a word of this to anybody.'

"'Mrs. Clark,' sez the manglin' lady all of a tremble with excitement, 'if I say a word may Providence look sideways at me.'

"An' with that she went out an' told the wife of the milkman, an' the nobleman's daughter that kept the coke shop at the corner.

"It was all over the neighbourhood in two ticks, an' when father walked down to the Globe an' Trotter for his mornin' constitutional the neighbourhood got a pain in its neck watching him. All his friends came back by magic; people who used to turn up a side-street at the sight of him, people who used to pull funny faces when they passed him in the hope of his not recognisin' 'em, people who'd sacrificed their buttons in a good cause, they all flocked round father, an' me head fairly ached from bein' patted by chaps who said what a fine lad I was, an' how I was growin'!

"All the nuts, an' nibs, an' heads, an' regulars down our way come, an' a few of the swell mob turned up from Highbury an' Maida Vale an' interviewed father.

"For two days me father lived like a lord at the expense, of his friends, an' not only lived like a lord, but used to come home every night like one, too.

"'Don't you trust that money to a bank, Clark,' sez one of the Highbury mob who stood father several drinks.

"'Well, all I can say is,' sez the feller—then suddenly stops dead. 'Here!' he sez to the barman, 'where's me change?'

"'Don't let's spoil the harmony of the evenin' over a paltry matter of eighteen an' fourpence,' sez me father. 'You was sayin', mister...."

"Don't let's spoil the harmony of the evenin' over a pal
try matter of eighteen an' fourpence,' sez me father.

"'Never mind what I was sayin,' sez the nut, fierce, 'this barman lays down my change, an' somebody's picked it up.'

"'You ought to be more careful,' sez me father, shakin' his head, reprovin', 'there's a lot of bad characters around here. I think I'll put my money in a bank,' he sez, thoughtful.

"This brings the chap back to business, an' after smoothin' hisself down, he comes back to the question of father's fortune. They talked for half-an-hour or so, an' then father sez:

"'Have another drink,' sez the chap, but me father said 'no,' he'd got a lot of work to do, signin' documents an' lookin' over the plan of a new house he was goin' to build.

"'Nobby, I shouldn't be surprised if we don't have a burglary to-night—with all this money in the house.'

"The only money in the house at the moment was the eighteen an' fourpence change that father had absent-mindedly picked up off the counter—still, that was somethin'.

"None of us slept that night; we put out the lights an' dozed an' woke by fits an' starts.

"About three in the mornin' father heard a little noise in the back-yard, an' woke us all up.

"Soon after we heard a window go up very soft. I didn't hear it meself, but father recognised the sound, because he knows the noise a window makes at three in the mornin'.

"Bimeby the door opened cautious an' in come somebody. Before he had time to put his light on, or think father was on him an' down he went.

"'Strike a light. Nobby,' sez me father. So I did, an' there was the nut from Highbury layin' on the ground with father's knee on his chest.

There was the nut from Highbury layin' on
the ground with father's knee on his chest.

"'I just called round to ask you to come to Kempton tomorrow,' sez the chap, but father shook his head.

"So father went all over him. He had £14 odd in his pocket in real money, an' about a million in Bank of Elegance notes. Father also took his watch an' chain, his boots an' his fancy weskit.

"'You can have it,' sez me father; 'take anythin' you like, Ethel—he's a sort of Christmas Tree.'

"'I suppose, you know,' sez the chap, that if I'm a burglar, you're compounding a felony.'

"'Oh, yes, I have,' sez me father, 'or to be perfectly exact, the fortune came in to me—you bein' It.'

"I tell you this tale about me father," explained Nobby seriously, "because you'll understand the value of bein' able to tell the right lie at the right moment, an', moreover, because it shows the value of an early trainin'.

"In the army we get all sorts of chaps, good, bad, an' so-so. You can't resent a chap enlistin' if he's the right height, chest an' weight, an' providin' he can get his last employer to write:

"'I have known Bill Sniff for three weeks, during which time I have never had occasion to give him in charge.'

"To know your man in the army, you've either got to see him arrive in barracks in his civilian kit or live with him for two or three years, but the best way is to see him arrive, because it doesn't take so long.

"There was a chap who once blew into the Anchester Regiment when the gate was open, by the name of Chaucer. He belonged to that celebrated family, the Chaucers of Pimlico. What I didn't like about him was his friendliness. The first time he met me he wanted to shake hands.

"'I never shake hands with anybody under two years' service,' I sez, for I was afraid that if I got any more friendly with him the next time we met me he'd want to borrow a bit. He was the friendliest chap I'd ever met; he'd sort insinuate hisself into family groups without bein' invited.

"We used to meet together at the canteen at dinner time, an' take our drink together, an' the second day Chaucer was in the regiment he pushed hisself into the congregation.

"'Excuse me,' be sez, 'but I'm feelin' a bit lonely,' an' reached out his hand for the beer.

"'Excuse me,' I sez, very firm, 'but this is a family gatherin', an' we're discussin' family secrets.'

"'I know that,' I sez, 'but we all drink out of the same pot without wipin' it, an' that's the same thing as bein' related.'

"He told us he had a large heart, but so far as I could see the largest thing about him was his throat.

"If a feller tries hard enough he's sure to find a mug sooner or later, an' the mug that Chaucer found was a young gentleman by the name of Hawkie, of 'H' Company.

"Hawkie in a sense, was a passive resister, bein' one of those sort of chaps who haven't got any 'go' in 'em.

"Chaucer froze on to Hawkie, took him round an' introduced hisself to all Hawkie's friends, drank Hawkie's beer, borrered Hawkie's boots, an' generally lived on the poor feller.

"It was 'Have another drink, you chaps; Hawkie will pay,' an' 'Hawkie, lend me a tanner till the end of the month,' an' Hawkie always obliged.

"After a bit it got a trifle too hot even for Hawkie, an' what with bein' bucked up by us fellers an' always findin' hisself short of money, be gave Chaucer the Hard Push.

"'What! sez Chaucer, sorrerful, when Hawkie told him—it was in the canteen at dinner time—'What, Hawkie, after all I've done for you?'

"'You've borrered money, if that's what you mean,' sez Hawkie, ' an' like a true friend you haven't paid it back.'

"'I wouldn't insult you by offerin' it back,' sez Chaucer. 'My motto is, between friends, "Share an' share alike."'

"'I know it is,' sez Hawkie, bitter, 'but the share that we shared was my share.'

"Chaucer tried his best to persuade Hawkie to keep on the friendship, but Hawkie said no, it would be cheaper to buy a dog.

"'Then all I can say, ole friend of other days,' sez Chancer, sad, 'is that you'll miss me.'

"'I dessay,' sez Chaucer, 'an' it won't be the only thing I'll miss. The best thing you can do, Chaucer, is to pay me what you owe me, an' break away.'

"'What I owe you, an' you owe me,' he sez, 'is done with; we'll wipe off old debts—for an' against.'

"Hawkie, who is a very careful man, came to me after in a great state of mind. It appears that Chaucer owed him quite a lot. Hawkie—bein' as I say a very careful man—had made a note of 'em. He showed me the list:

Lent to Chaucer owin' to his havin' given his last shillin' to a starvin' widder..... 8 0

"Hawkie was a bit tender-hearted. as I could see, an' in one way an' another Chaucer had so worked on his feelin's that he'd parted with over three pounds of his hard-saved money.

"'What I want you to do, Nobby,' sez Hawkie, 'is to get that money back. I know you're a bit clever in the money line—but so is Chaucer. My motto is, "Set a thief to catch a thief;" do you see my meanin'?'

"'I do, an' I don't,' I sez. 'As far as I can gather, you're tryin' hard to be complimentary, an' makin' a mess of the job.'

"But, not bein' offended, I took the job on, especially after Hawkie told me he'd give me half of the money I got.

"I knew it was no good goin' about the business in an ordinary way, for Chaucer was Tom Pepper where money was concerned, an' once be got his hooks on the stuff, hydraulic engines couldn't make him part. Of course, Hawkie might have reported the matter to his company officer, but that I advised him not to do. You know," said Nobby, thoughtfully, where that sort of thing is goin' to end, an' it's a bad example to set other people, anyway.

"So I waited for a bit, an' the next time Chaucer came up to me, instead of givin' him the dismiss, I entered into a bright an' animated conversation concernin' the weather an' football, two subjects dear to an Englishman's heart—if you'll excuse me breakin' into poetry.

"He was surprised at my friendliness, an' not wantin' much encouragement, he sort of fell on me neck.

"'You're the sort of man I've been lookin' for,' he sez, after I'd given me opinion on the Players' Union—'Open, frank, kind-hearted, an' true.'

"'A friend,' he sez, enthusiastic, 'in time of stress, in time of strife, to 'elp me through a lonely life—I got that bit out of a cracker last Christmas,' he sez.

"In two minutes he was tellin' me all his family secrets; how his father was a clergyman in the country, an' how his family had a carriage of their own, an' how his cousin was on the stage. One good turn deserves another, so I told him how me father was a captain of a man-o'-war who'd lost his job owin' to slack times, an' how our family drove their own motor-'bus.

"In ten minutes we was sound friends, an' when he asked me to come far a walk in town that night, I up an' said. 'Certainly,'

"'We'll have a bust to celebrate the occasion,' I sez. 'Bring plenty of money, an' I'll bring three or four pounds,' I sez, careless.

"So I paid, an' when we got outside Chaucer thought he'd like a nice cigar, so I paid for that, too.

"I didn't mind doin' this, for the 'fiver' was a genuine one, as I saw, but I was anxious to see it changed.

"'Never mind,' sez Chaucer, 'I can change it to-morrow—you pay tonight an' I'll pay tomorrow night.' Then I began to tumble, but I didn't let on.

"'Let's go up to the Stag's Head,' I sez, that bein' the fashionable pub of Anchester, an' Chaucer sez 'Yes.'

There was quite a lot of high-class people in the bar. Young Stokes, the butcher—a master man—Mr. Popp, the tobacconist an' several other of the local gentry, but there was one elderly feller there that made me hair stand up to see.

"We had a drink, an' just as the young lady was servin' it, I said to Chaucer, 'Half-a-mo,' an' nipped outside quick, for many reasons.

"I waited round the corner for ten minutes, an' bimeby, out came Chaucer, lookin' sour.

"'Never mind about that,' he sez, with a chuckle, an' I wondered what his game was.

"An' then he told me what happened. How he'd waited for me, an' the barmaid had got impatient, an' asked him whether he was goin' to pay. Then be pulled out his fiver.

"'Excuse me,' sez one of the gentlemen at the bar, 'but I will change it for you,' an' with that he pulled out a handful o( gold.

"'Lets have a look at that note,' he sez, an' so Chaucer let him take half of it in his hand.

"'By Jove,' sez the stranger, 'that's a rum 'un—it's one of the new 'uns, what's been called in. I'll give you six pounds for it!'

"'An',' sez Chaucer, tellin' the story, 'I took the six pounds as quick as I could an' got out.'

"Bein' a mean sort o" chap," said Nobby, "Chaucer just hoards all the money he gets, so I suppose he's got them six sovereigns now. One thing I do know, an' that is he ain't changed 'em, for when me father plants dud quids on a mug, there ain't much chance of the mug gettin' his own back.

"I'm sorry for Hawkie, because I never got his money, an' shan't, for even if Chaucer paid me, I'd be afraid to have the money."

11. — THE LOVE AFFAIR OF NOSEY.

First published in Ideas, 22 Sep 1909

THERE is an irresistible fascination about Nobby Clark's male parent which I find hard to resist. Ever since that day when by dint of gentle persuasion I succeeded in getting him to talk of his earlier days, and when, with whimsical exaggeration that thinly veiled the very palpable truth, he unfolded the story of his impossible father, I have lured him by hint and studied carelessness of inquiry to tell me more.

"One of these days," said Nobby reflectively. "I'm going to write a book about father. There's been a lot written about him already—

—but since the finger-print system came in they've given that up. Little bits used to get into the papers about him.

'Clarence Clark, described as a commission agent, was charged before Mr. Rose with loiterin' for an unlawful purpose.'

"Takin' him all in all, as the good book says, he wasn't a bad feller, me father, an' the only time he ever give me an' mother any anxiety was when he turned over a new leaf.

"Father was a shockin'ly sentimental feller, an' if a chap got at him in the right place he'd so work on father's feelin's that he'd regularly break down.

"'I can't understand what's happened to him,' sez mother; 'run along, Nobby, an' see if you can find him at any of his clubs.'

"So off I nipped. He wasn't in 'The Blue Pig' or 'The Prussian Hero' or 'The Waterloo Arms' or any of those select houses, so after I'd tried 'The Hole in the Wall' an' 'The Crown an' Rose ' I came back, an' told mother.

"'Go along to the police station,' sez mother, 'an' see if he's met with an accident.'

"Father was always meetin with accidents that took him to the police station, so I ran off to the jug.

"'No, me boy,' sez the sergeant, 'he ain't here yet, though we're not without hopes.'

"At nine o'clock he hadn't turned up, but at ten o'clock, just as I was windin' the kitchen clock, in father came, very grave an' very sad.

"'I mean it," sez me father, very firm. 'Oh, what a wreck I've made of me life; oh, heavens! oh, heavens!'

"'I've been talkin' with Brother Hubert,' he sobs, 'him that keeps the baker's shop on weekdays, an' runs the Rogues Mission on Sundays an' early closin' days—an' I see the errow of me ways.

"'No more,' me father goes on, 'will I depart from the straight way that leadeth to the beak; no more shall these hands, which never told a lie, be used to—'

"Hold hard,' sez mother; 'that's all right as far as it goes, but how are you goin' to get your livin'?'

"'I'll be good,' sez father; 'I'll stay at home an' think of what I might have done if I'd only been different.'

"Father had peculiarities, very much like you see in some fellows who joins the army. Havin' taken the fatal step of reformin' hisself he wanted to sit down an' enjoy the feelin' without work.

"There was a chap I know who came into the Anchesters on the same lay. I used to know him when he was a civilian. He was a fattish feller, by the name of Parker—Nosey Parker we called him—but in civil life he was called Mister Parker, owin' to his wearin' a watch an' chain an' sleeve links.

"The first time I met him was at a 'do' given by the Anchester Young Men's Improvement Society. Me an' Smithy was invited, an' a lot more young gentlemen of 'B' Company.

"I got fairly friendly with him, an', like a true friend, he began to lumber his troubles on to me. He was havin' a row with his girl over the question of her mother.

"'She's a bit too sarcastic for me,' he sez. 'The other day when I look a bunch of flowers up to Gertrude she up an' asked me why I didn't buy her somethin' she could eat. I won't stand it, sez Mister Parker; 'for two pins I'd—I'd join the army.'

"'I'd go for a soldier,' sez Mister Parker, very desperate, 'that'd bring Gertrude to her senses.'

"I don't think he meant what he said at the time, but matters goin' from bad to worse he got gloomier an' gloomier.

"'The old woman's sarcasticker than over,' he sez one night when I met him in the High Street. 'I hinted to her that if things didn't alter I'd go in for a red coat, an' she asked me what the army had done to deserve it.'

"'I've nearly made up me mind,' he sez, shakin' his head warnin'ly; 'it's either suicide or the army.'

"Well, Mister Parker's love affair got worse an' worse, an' it ended up by Gertrude walkin' out with another feller, an' the poor young feller—Mister Parker I mean—got proper broken-hearted.

"'When I think of what I've done for that girl,' he sez, 'how I've bought her chocolates, an' always walked on the outside like a gentleman when we've been in the street, an' raised me hat to her, I feel life ain't worth livin'.'

"An' the very next day, very pale an' determined, down he came to barracks an' enlisted.

"'When she thinks of me on the gory field of battle, with bullets flyin' in all directions (I hope) except mine, she'll be sorry.'

"'When she sees me goin' down the street,' he sez, 'with me low, boon companions, despised by all—'

"'When she sees me herdin', if that's the expression, with the scum of the earth—'

"'Dry up, Nosey.' I sez, very stern, 'or I'll be almost sorry I didn't let you hang yourself.'

"Mister Parker's idea was that, havin' taken the step of joinin' the army, the worst was over, an' he was preparin' to sit down an' be comfortably miserable, but, unfortunately, there ain't any arrangements in the army for brooders.

"'A soldier's life, an' a soldier's death, is what I want,' sez Mister Parker, sittin' on his bed-cot, when in walked Corporal Jones.

"'Not so much "me man,"' sez the Corporal. 'or I'll land you in the flea-cage—you'll be for coal fatigue.'

"'Very much like carryin' civilian coal,' sez the Corporal, 'only it's a bit heavier.'

"'Is this what you call glory?' he sez, bitter, to the chap in charge of the coal shed.

"'What with scrubbin' floors, an' scrubbin' tables, an' doin' other things too numerous an' disgustin' to mention, Nosey began to get an idea of soldierin' that he had never had before. He got into trouble for givin' lip to a sergeant, an' got extra drill for bein' too much of a gentleman to wash his neck on a cold mornin'.

"He hadn't seen Gertrude since he enlisted, because in those days young recruits weren't served out with their swagger tunics for a month or so after they joined, but when that time came, an' he got his nice fine-cloth coat, he dressed up an' went down town.

"He saw her, an' she saw him, an' went past him with her nose in the air, an' poor old Parker was terribly upset when he came back.

"He saw her, an' she saw him, an' went
past him with her nose in the air."

"So he did; stopped an' spoke to her, an' the only result was that her mother wrote to the C.O. an' said that if he didn't keep his drummer boys from molestin' her daughter she'd write to the papers.

"He was a great schemer, was Nosey Parker, an' he sat down, to think of a good way to get the girl to see the kind of hero she was chuckin' away. After thinkin' for three days, he struck an idea, an' came to me with it.

"'From what?' I sez, for now that Nosey's engagement was broken off I couldn't see what there was to be rescued from.

"'From ruffians,' sez Nosey. 'One dark night when she's comin' home from choir practice, two fellers will spring out of a dark corner an' pinch her watch. Just as she is strugglin' an' at her last gasp up comes gallant young soldier. Who is it? by heavens, it's Private Parker! Biff! biff! smack! smack! down goes the two ruffians, an' the girl falls faintin' in me arms,' sez Nosey, very breathless.

"'Fine,' I sez, 'but suppose all the Biff! biff! is done by the ruffians, an' you fall faintin' in her arms?'

"'That,' sez Nosey, 'I'm goin' to arrange for; in fact, it's what I've come to see you about—will you be a ruffian?'

"'I'll think about it,' sez I, an' went off to talk the matter over with Smithy.

"Money was very scarce, an' it was the longest month I'd ever lived, owin' to aforesaid.

"So we collected ten shillin's from Nosey, an' Nosey, who was a bit of a poet, wrote out the part. He wrote it out just as if it'd been a play. He used to write plays for the Anchester Young Men's Improvement Society till somebody stopped him. The play he wrote for us went like this:

Scene.—A lonely street, with nobody about except the moon. Enter Gertrude, a fair young girl.

GERTRUDE: How late the hour grows! Methought I heard the village church proclaim the hour of nine.

"'It won't be properly dark at nine,' I sez, 'an', besides, there'll be whips of people about then.'

GERTRUDE: Methought I heard the Village clock proclaim the hour of half-past eleven. How weary I feel! Would that I had never quarrelled with Hector.

GERTRUDE: Oh! woe the day when a cruel mother tore me from his arm with her sarcastic tongue. But hold, I must away, for the hour waxes late.

"'Suppose she don't say all this?' sez Smithy. 'Are you goin' to send her the words?'

GERTRUDE: Farewell, bright moon, I go to my room to dream of my gallant soldier boy.

RUFFIANS: Thy cries are vain. Hand over the stuff or we will slit thy pretty throat.

"'I don't like that bit,' sez Smithy, shakin' his head, but Nosey took no notice.

"But we persuaded him, an' when the night of the performance came round me an' Smithy went up to a little street where Nosey took us an' waited.

"'She'll be comin' along in about ten minutes,' sez Nosey, all a twitter of excitement. 'I'll be waitin' round the corner. You'll know her by—anyway, I'll give you the tip.'

"'Here she comes,' he hissed, an' at the other end of the deserted street sure enough she appeared. I'd seen her before, so I knew we was makin' no mistake.

"'He's a very foolish boy,' she sez with a sigh, 'an' he 'as made me very unhappy.'

"'The only thing about him,' I sez, 'is that he don't seem quite right in his head.'

'Considerin' that I broke the news gently to her, she took on somethin' dreadful, sort of staggerin' back.

"'A bit off his nut, miss,' I sez, 'an' all on account of you. He goes about barracks wanderin' an' talkin' to hisself—thinks you're in danger, an' wants to rescue you.'

"'It's somethin' awful,' sez Smithy, takin' the cue; 'why, I've known him to—'

Smithy was so surprised that he hit back, an' down went "Nosey."

"'Don't hurt him!' sez the poor girl. 'Don't hurt him—don't you know me, Hector?'

"'I am unhanded,' sez the girl. 'Hector, be calm, dear—I am with you; nobody shall hurt you.'

"'Release her!' sez Nosey, wanderin' in his mind, 'or by heavens, my trusty blade shall find your foul hearts.'

"'The best thing you can do,' she flared, 'is to go away before I give you in charge—I never saw a more cowardly thing than to strike a boy when he wasn't looking!"

"Nosey bought his discharge next week, an' before we left Anchester they were married. They didn't invite us to the weddin', so we didn't send 'em a wreath or anythin'. But me an' Smithy bought a card at the stationer's an' sent it to Gertrude's mother. It was a nice little card, marked: 'WITH DEEPEST SYMPATHY.'"

12. — THE SANGUINE CHOOPER.

First published in Ideas, 29 Sep 1909

"ME father." said Nobby Clark reflectively, "was never what you might call a cadger. His motto was: "Him that goes borrowin' goes sorrowin", in addition to which he wears his boots out an' gets cold feet.' If father was ever what the poet terms pecuniary difficulties he used to go off to his bank manager.

"'Good-mornin', Mr. Brown, sez father; 'I want an overdraft of a thousand pounds.'

"There's a foreign word that describes me father. It is 'sanguine.' an' means 'blood.' Father was the sanguinest chap that ever expected a cheque—to-morrow. I remember once he came home one evenin' whistlin' an' singin'.

"'No, no, Ethel,' sez me father, in a very airy manner. ' I've made a nice bit of money, that's all.'

"'Yes,' sez father, 'we'll run down to the seaside to-morrow for a little blow. You can get Nobby's boots out of pawn, an' buy yourself a new dolman.'

"'I haven't got the money yet,' sez father, 'but it's as good as in me pocket—I've backed Hokey Joe for the Snaffle Stakes.'

"It appeared that father's real luck was in findin' a bookmaker to trust him. Father had seen his advertisement, an' had borrered a sheet of paper from the landlord of the Rising Crown, an' the' bookmaker, thinkin' father was a gentleman (he signed himself 'Clarence Clark, Esq.,' so it looked as if he was) trusted him to the extent of two sovereigns.

"The day of the race was a great one for us. I stayed at home from school, an' mother stayed at home from work. Father didn't do any work either, but there was nothin' remarkable about that.

"'I shall have to get a white weskit an' a red neck-cloth,' sez father. 'If you go to a place like Scarborough you've got to be tastily dressed.'

"'What about a collar?' sez mother, but father said that wasn't necessary, because all the best people was wearin' wraps.

"The fatal hour came round, an' father started writin' to the bookmaker askin' him to forward cheque by return, or take the risk of a public prosecution.

"'You might go out an' buy the paper,' sez father. 'It'd be as well to see what was second.'

"So out I went an' got a paper. I looked carefully through it. There was no mention of Hokey Joe havin' won.

"'What!' sez me father, sternly. 'Not there?' He looked through an' through the paper, but there was no sign of Hokey Joe.

"'You must have rubbed the name out,' sez me father, shakin' his head sorrerfully. 'Oh, Nobby, how careless!'

"He sent out for another paper, an' there sure enough, half-way down the account of the race, he found the distressin' news:

"So off he goes to the gentleman who gave htm the information about Hokey Joe, an' the gentleman explained that Hokey Joe would have won—

but that owin' to his bein' a natural bad character he'd stopped to bite a policeman, an' had been run in.

"That's where our holiday trip stopped, because father had to go away into the country for a little while until the bookmaker got tired of lookin' for him.

"That was me father's failin'—countin' too much on things happenin' that couldn't happen not once in a thousand years, an' not only countin' on it, but actin' as though his hopes was certainties.

"Why, if father ever took a ticket in a raffle for a Christmas goose he'd invite people to come an' eat it!

"There was a chap in the Anchester Regiment who you might know by name who had the same sort of disposition. He was a great horse-racer an' what he didn't know about horses it wasn't worth while findin' out. He wasn't much good at findin' winners, but he was a rare one for findin' horses who ought to have won if they hadn't had bad luck. But it wasn't racin' that Chooper—that was his name—specialised in. His cocksuredness took another line. In fact, it took every line, because, there wasn't a single thing he wasn't certain about. He knew what kind of weather it was goin' to be; he knew who won the boat race in 1644; he knew who Tichborne was, an' why. He was a surprisin' feller. He was like a book of reference, full of printer's errows. He was cocksure about the army.

When he enlisted he went down to the tailor's shop to be fitted for his uniform.

"'Them stripes that the chap wore who enlisted me,' sez Chooper—that was his name.

"'You fathead,' sez the sergeant, 'they was sergeant's stripes. You don't get them until you're promoted.'

"'Then all I can say,' sez the feller, very melancholy, 'is that if I'd known I wouldn't have joined—its a swindle.'

"Bein' so certain, he was easy money for some fellers"—Nobby coughed—"because the only thing you had to do was to go contrary to his opinions, an' he'd bet you.

"'Commandin' officers' parade is postponed.' he sez one mornin' just before parade, an' the glad news spread.

'Yes,' he sez, an' began unstrappin' the equipment that had took him three hours to put together the day before. 'I saw the Colonel talkin' to the adjutant, an' I heard him say that tomorrow would be a better day.'

"He'd got all his kit to pieces when the 'quarter' bugle went; he was workin' like blazes to strap up his valise when the 'fall in' went; an he got seven days for bein' absent from parade in consequence.

"Little things like that would have upset another man, but this feller—did I tell you his name was Chooper?—wasn't put out in the slightest.

"I used to think that there wasn't anythin' in sanguineness, owin' to my experience with father, an' with this chap of ours, but I've changed my opinion a bit, because I've seen that bein' stone certain ain't such a bad game as it looks.

"We was stationed in Aldershot when I changed my opinion, owin' to certain things that happened to Chooper.

"Aldershot ain't the bad place that some people think it is. For one thing there's a decent canal where chaps can go boatin', an' it was on one of our trips up to Frimley that Chooper saw a girl on the towin' path. He looked at her; she looked at him.

"I'll come back here at the same time tomorrow,' sez Chooper. 'She'll be waitin' for me.'

"Now the surprisin' thing was that when we rowed past the place the next day there she was (a nice, pretty girl, too), standin' on the bank. She was one of those big, strong girls you see sometimes an' she could have eaten Chooper, who was a little feller.

"'I don't remember ever seein' a face like yours,' she sez, 'except in comic papers.'

"'I see you're busy,' sez Chooper, who wasn't a bit put out, 'I'll call round to-morrow.'

"The funny thing about the whole business was that he'd fallen in love with this girl, an' by all accounts he met her the next day an' the next. The first day he called at her house an' she dropped a bucket of water on his head. The next day he met her in the village an' she threatened to give him in charge. The next day he wrote to her, an' got his letter back with all the spellin' mistakes underlined in red ink.

"'That girl's gettin' quite fond of me,' sez the sanguine feller (I forget whether I told you his name was Chooper?)

"'You'll never know how fond she is,' I sez, 'till she gets a strangle-hold on you, an' rubs your face with a brick.'

"But somehow or another, Chooper had got it well fixed into his head that this Miss Pink (that was her name) was most desp'ritly in love with him.

"One night he came into barracks very wet, havin', he said, been caught in a shower.

"'Come over to Frimley with me,' he sez next day. 'I'm goin' to call on me young lady.'

"'No,' he sez, very off-handed, 'no; we've made up our little misundersandin' an' we're as thick as anythin'.'

"By luck, we met Miss Pink just outside the village, an' when she seen us, she stops dead in her stride.

"'Because you love me,' sez Chooper, 'I've often read about it in books, though it's generally been the other way about,' he sez very vague.

"'When I fall in love,' sez the girl, lookin' down on Chooper with scornery, 'I'll fall in love with a man, a MAN, do you hear?'

"That's me," sez Chooper, "a soldier an' a man."

"'A soldier you are,' she sez. 'though I've seen better soldiers than you scarin' crows, but a man—'

"'Let bygones be bygones,' he sez pleadin', 'where shall we go to-night, Gertrude?'

"He'd brought me out to introduce me, but I didn't feel justified in remindin' him of it, till we was half-way home.

"'So I did,' he sez. 'Never mind. I'll introduce you another time. 'Come to think of it,' he sez thoughtful, 'perhaps that was why she was so cross—she wanted me by meself.'

"'Very likely,' I sez. 'When a young lady wants to commit murder, she don't want no witnesses—that's if she's a nice young lady.'

I didn't take much interest in Chooper's love affairs, because I didn't go courtin' with him again, but I gathered from the various accidents that happened from time to time, that he was doin' well.

"Once he came back to barracks with his tunic torn; once without cap, out of breath.

"'That girl gets fonder an' fonder of me,' he sez. 'She chased me all the way back to barracks—an' jolly nearly caught me too.'

"But he was quite sure he'd fascinated her, an' the only time he admitted things wasn't goin' well was when he told me she'd thrown him over a wall.

"This went on for a long time. I found out in the meantime that this Miss Pink was a Hokey champion, an' a push-ball champion, a dumb bell champion, an' a few other things, so I gathered from the fact that Chooper continued courtin' her, an' remained alive to tell the tale, that she needed him to practise on. I found out, too, that she'd a tidy bit of money of her own.

"One Sunday afternoon this sanguine feller (did I tell you?—yes I did) asked me to go walkin'.

"'Not me,' I sez, 'if it's courtin' you mean. She'll start on me next, an' I'd look fine on a sick report.'

"This Miss Pink, Chooper told me, lived in a nice little house, with a maiden aunt.

"'I haven't met aunt yet,' sez Chooper. 'I call her "aunt" because she's as good as mine, but in a way I'm sorry for her—Gertrude wants livin' with.

"There was no sign of Miss Pink in the village, but after Chooper had walked up an' down outside her house whistlin' very loud for about five minutes half a brick came over the wall, follered by a cabbage.

'That's her,' sez Chooper, with a sad smile; a sort of code—a brick means wait round the corner, a cabbage means—'

"'What's that mean?' I sez, but he hadn't time to invent anythin' before the big, high garden gate was flung open an' out ran Miss Pink, lookin' very wrathy.

'Mr. Chooper, or Choppers, or whatever your funny name is,' she says, most exasperated, 'are you goin' to leave me in peace?'

"'I'll recite her a bit of poetry I made up,' sez Chooper, an' pulls a paper out of his pocket.

"'I suppose I'll have to marry him,' she sez, talkin' to herself. 'He's a queer lookin' little chap, but he might be handy about the house.'

"In the course of time," said Nobby, "she married him. 1 didn't go to the weddin'—it wasn't safe—but I saw Chooper a few weeks afterwards.

"'You're a wonderful feller,' I sez to him, 'fancy perseverin' as you did with that girl. I suppose sanguineness is a gift?'

"He carefully stuck down the bit of stickin'-plaster that was on his nose, an' put another pin in the bandage that was on his wrist.

"'I ain't so sure it's a gift,' he sez, very slow an' thoughtful, 'there's times when I think it's a bit of a vice.'"

THE END

Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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EDGAR WALLACE

THE "MAKINGS-UP"
OF NOBBY CLARK

VOLUME I

BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. — DARKIE, THE MAGICIAN.

First published in Ideas, 14 July 1909

2. — THE CONCERT OF EUROPE.

First published in Ideas, 22 Jul 1909

3. — THE LEAN YEARS.

First published in Ideas, 28 Jul 1909

4. — HOW THE KENTS GOT THEIR NICKNAME.

First published in Ideas, 04 Aug 1909

5. — THE OLD AND THE BOLD.

First published in Ideas, 11 Aug 1909

6. — THE LIBELLER.

First published in Ideas, 18 Aug 1909

7. — THE CUP.

First published in Ideas, 25 Aug 1909

8. — THE DASH OF GENERAL OOSH.

First published in Ideas, 01 Sep 1909

9. — THE WIGSHIRE FAIRIES.

First published in Ideas, 08 Sep 1909

10. — A FAMILY AFFAIR.

First published in Ideas, 15 Sep 1909

11. — THE LOVE AFFAIR OF NOSEY.

First published in Ideas, 22 Sep 1909

12. — THE SANGUINE CHOOPER.

First published in Ideas, 29 Sep 1909

THE END

EDGAR WALLACE

THE "MAKINGS-UP" OF NOBBY CLARK

VOLUME I

BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. — DARKIE, THE MAGICIAN.

First published in Ideas, 14 July 1909

2. — THE CONCERT OF EUROPE.

First published in Ideas, 22 Jul 1909

3. — THE LEAN YEARS.

First published in Ideas, 28 Jul 1909

4. — HOW THE KENTS GOT THEIR NICKNAME.

First published in Ideas, 04 Aug 1909

5. — THE OLD AND THE BOLD.

First published in Ideas, 11 Aug 1909

6. — THE LIBELLER.

First published in Ideas, 18 Aug 1909

7. — THE CUP.

First published in Ideas, 25 Aug 1909

8. — THE DASH OF GENERAL OOSH.

First published in Ideas, 01 Sep 1909

9. — THE WIGSHIRE FAIRIES.

First published in Ideas, 08 Sep 1909

10. — A FAMILY AFFAIR.

First published in Ideas, 15 Sep 1909

11. — THE LOVE AFFAIR OF NOSEY.

First published in Ideas, 22 Sep 1909

12. — THE SANGUINE CHOOPER.

First published in Ideas, 29 Sep 1909

THE END

THE "MAKINGS-UP"
OF NOBBY CLARK