I joined him, and,
following Hyldy in a cloud of dust, the runner informed me between gasps
that it was "along of burning his snout-raking for a bully-beef tin in
the insinuator."
A band outside B Mess was nearing the climax of GRIEG'S "Peer Gynt"
suite. Hyldebrand just failed to perpetrate the time-worn gag of jumping
through the big drum, but he contrived to make that final crashing chord
sound like the last sneeze of a giant dying of hay-fever. The rest the
crowd saw through a film of dust. Hyldebrand headed for the turning by
the school, reached it as the gates opened to release young France, and
comedy would have turned to tragedy but for the point duty M.P. and his
revolver.
There was a note and a parcel for me a day or so after. The note, which
was addressed to and had been opened by the T.M., stated that Hyldebrand
was being sent for by the Heatherdale Hussars on the morrow. Outside the
parcel was scrawled, above the initials of the G.H.Q. officers' cook, a
friend of mine, "It's top hole--try it with a drop of sauce." Inside was
a cold pork chop!
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEW LOAF.
MR. LLOYD GEORGE. "LUCKY RHONDDA! BUT I TAUGHT HIM THOSE NUMBERS."]
* * * * *
II.--ERMYNTRUDE.
It so happened in a quiet part of the line that men were scarce and work
abundant, so it was decided to use mules to carry the rations further
than usual.
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