PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 152.

January 3, 1917.

MORE DISCIPLINE.

"Yes, Sir," said Sergeant Wally, accepting one of my cigarettes and readjusting his wounded leg,—"yes, Sir, discipline's the thing. It's only when a man moves on the word o' command, without waiting to think, that he becomes a really reliable soldier. I remember, when I was a recruit, how they put us through it. I'd been on the square about a week. I was a fairly smart youngster, and I thought I was jumping to it just like an old soldier, when the drill sergeant called me out of the ranks. Look 'ere,' he said, 'if you think you're going to make a fool o' me, standing about there till you choose to obey the word o' command, you've made a big mistake.' I could 'a' cried at the time, but I've been glad often enough since for what the sergeant said that day. I've found that little bit of gag useful myself many a time."

I was meditating with sympathy upon the many victims of Sergeant Wally's borrowed sarcasm when he spoke again.

"When I first came up to London from the depôt," he said, "I'd a brother, a corporal in the same battalion. You know as well as I do, Sir, that as a matter o' discipline a corporal doesn't have any truck with a private soldier, excepting in the way of duties, and my brother didn't speak to me for the first week. Then one day he called me up and said, 'It ain't the thing for me to be going about with you, but as you're my brother I'll go out with you to-night. Have yourself cleaned by six o'clock.'

"Well, I took all the money I'd got—about twelve bob—and off we went.

"We had a bit o' supper first at a place my brother knew of, and a very good supper it was. My brother ordered it, but I paid. Then we got a couple of cigars—at least, I did. Then we went to a music-hall, me paying, of course. We had a drink during the evening, and when we came out my brother said, 'We'd better come in here and have a snack.'

"'Well, I ain't got any money left,' I sez. My brother looked at me a minute, and then he said, 'I don't know what I've been thinking of, going about with you, you a private and me a corporal. Be off 'ome !' And he stalks away.

"Yes, Sir, discipline's the thing. Thank you, I'll have another cigarette."

Simpler Fashions in India.

"The bride, who was given away by her father, looked happy and handsome in a beautiful red fern dress."—Allahabad Pioneer.

TO THE KAISER FOR HIS NEW YEAR.

O.S.

AN EXTRA SPECIAL.

A special constable is allowed to bore his beat-partner in moderation. I have no doubt that I bore mine. In return I expect to be moderately bored. In fact a partner who flashed through all the four hours might attract Zeppelins. But Granby! In human endurance there is a point known as the limit. That is Granby.

Years back some Government person in a moment of fatuity made Granby a magistrate. Magistrates should learn to condense their wisdom into sentences. Granby beats out his limited store into orations.

It was my misfortune to arrive late at the station the other night and to find that the other specials had craftily left Granby to be my partner. The results of unpunctuality are sometimes hideous.

Directly we had started our lonely patrol Granby gave what I may describe as his "bench" cough and began, "When I was at the court the other day a very curious case came before me." He was off. If Granby delivers to prisoners in the dock the speeches he recites to me the Government ought to intervene. No man however guilty ought to have a sentence and one of Granby's orations. He might be given the option. Personally, for anything under fourteen days I should be tempted to serve the sentence.

Just when he was at his dreariest I heard a remarkable treble voice down a side-street singing, "Keep the Home Fires Burning." "Sounds like a drunk," I said promptly; "we ought to investigate this." Had it been a couple of armed burglars I should have welcomed their advent if it stopped Granby.

We went down and found a stout lady sitting on the pavement warbling Songs Without Melody.

"Gerout, Zeppelin," she observed as a flash-lamp was turned on her.

"A distinct case of intoxication plus incapability," observed Granby. "We must take her to the station. You can charge her. I have so many important engagements this week that I can't spare time to be a witness."

I saw that a wasted morning at the police-court was to be thrust on me.

"I also have many important engagements this week," I replied.

"This duty is to be taken seriously—" began Granby.

"Yes," I said, "if we don't run her in we ought to see her home. She can't stay here rousing the street."

"That was what I was about to suggest as the proper course for you when you interrupted me," said Granby. "Where do you live?" he demanded.

"Fourteen, Benbow Avenue," replied the lady; "and pore Uncle Sam's been dead eleven years."

"Come on," I said. "Get up and we'll see you home."

The lady pushed me aside, gripped Granby's arm and said affectionately, "'Ow you remind me of pore ole Jim in 'is best days afore 'e got jugged!"

Granby snorted as he dragged the lady onward. I think he knew that I was smiling in the darkness.