inch and he'll take an ell; give him an ell and he is no man if he doesn't improve even on that. Moreover, how is one to fill in the dismal vacuum subsequent on the return from one leave otherwise than by the discussion of subtle schemes for the betterment of the next leave? The duration of it having assumed a cast-iron rigidity, it only remained to improve the manner of travelling to and fro. John ferreted about and became aware of the existence of a civilian train to the port and of a Staff boat to the other port. He worked up a friendship with a Fonctionnaire de Chemin de Fer, and took the civilian train; he made a very natural, if very regrettable, mistake on the quay, and crossed in the Staff boat. He was able to repeat the friendship and the mistake on the return journey, and had therefore every reason to be proud of his efforts. Nevertheless he firmly decided to say nothing about it to anybody lest the idea should get overworked. But he told Robert in confidence, and Robert told a lot of other people, also in confidence, and the idea did get overworked and is now (vide General Routine Orders, passim) unworkable.

There was still scope however for Robert's ingenuity next time. There are other ways of getting to ports than by train. Why hold aloof from Motor Transport Drivers of the A.S.C. or be above making a personal friend or two among them? And if Orders limit the use of cars to officers of very senior rank, why be too proud to take a Colonel about with you? If when you get to the quay the leave boat wants you, but you don't want it, and if you want the Staff boat and it doesn't want you, it's no use arguing about it. You sulk unostentatiously in the background until both boats are full, and then you state a piteous case of urgent family affairs to the right officer, to find yourself eventually crossing with the comfort-loving civilians in their special boat. Robert was entirely satisfied with the way he wangled it, but, meaning to wangle it again in a few months' time, he decided to tell no one about it, not even John. But he did tell John as soon as he saw him, and John told the world. Thus, a further series of G.R.O.'s got written, published, and very carefully brought to the attention of all ranks.

The earth having become full of free booklets containing watertight rules and regulations for keeping officers to the straight and narrow path to the U.K., and the roads, railways, quays and gangways being policed with stalwarts whom it is impossible to circumvent and unwise to push into the sea, the only remaining resource is to apply to the Officer in Charge. I am told, at first hand, that there is as much variety in the reasons urged in support of applications as there is in the manner of the applicants. They attempt to melt him with piteous tales of their future in England, to shame him with gruesome pictures of their recent past in France, to hustle him with emergencies or special duties, or to bully him with dark references to unseen powers. I had a list of them from an M.L.O. himself, who was highly suspicious even of me, until he understood that I only wanted one thing in the world, and that was someone interesting to talk to while I waited for the leave boat to sail. Instance after instance he gave me of the low cunning of my species, to all of which, as I ventured to guess, he had proved himself equal. In the circumstances, as he said, this might suggest some hardness of heart on his part, but I readily agreed, was even the first to state, that there was no one in the wide world more anxious to assist our irrepressibles when bent on their hard-earned holiday. But he just couldn't do it. I put it for him that he was but the powerless and insignificant agent of an authority greater than himself.

To that he said "Yes, and No," always, I think, a safe answer. True, he had his duty to perform, and right well he performed it, we agreed. But he had also his powers, his responsibilities—might we say, his scope? Yet, I gathered, there were things which, not being entirely master of himself and his affairs, he could not do. Take my own case, for example. I suggested (very cautiously) that it would require a very much greater authority than himself to give relief to an ordinary person like myself, with no stronger reason to travel by the civilian boat than that my whole financial future and domestic happiness depended upon my doing so. He said nothing to that; I gave him but a very little chance. I said that I knew quite well that he would help me if he could. We were unanimous as to the kindness of his heart. It was because I quite realized that he couldn't that I didn't ask him or think of asking him. Very soon after that we parted, I to sail for England—but not by the leave boat.

Alas! for the weakness of human nature. I am no stronger nor more able to be secretive than Robert, John and the rest of the brethren. I bragged; and now I'm told there is a printed order posted outside that M.L.O.'s office, making it a crime punishable with death for any officer proceeding on leave to converse or attempt to enter into conversation with the M.L.O.

The only other thing I have to mention to you, Charles, upon this subject, is the application of a very earnest young lieutenant, who, I'm sure, would always obey all rules and regulations, both in letter and spirit, with scrupulous regard. His application is worth setting out in full:—"I have the honour to apply for leave to the United Kingdom to get married from January 9th to January 18th inclusive."

Yours ever,    
HENRY.

"WONDER 'OW THE NAVY'S GETTIN' ON."
"DUNNO. AIN'T SEEN 'EM ABOUT LATELY."

THREE AUGUSTS.

A WAR-TIME DRAMA.

ACT I.

A room in Mary Gray's flat in the West End, August, 1914.

There is a door R., leading into the hall. There is also a door L., but it only leads into a cupboard that Mary really needs.

Marmaduke Beltravers, a well-dressed man of thirty-five, is standing by a small table pressing his suit (his matrimonial suit, of course), but without success. His bold black eyes are flashing. Mary's lovely face (by an ingenious manipulation of the limelight) is quivering.

Marmaduke Beltravers (hoarsely). I have laid at your feet my hand, my heart and my flourishing business, and thus—thus I am supplanted by that puling saint, George Jeffreys. A-ha!      [Gnaws his moustache.

Enter George Jeffreys, an English gentleman.

George Jeffreys (furiously). You here? You hound! You blackguard! You ...

Mary (realising that this is going to be no place for a lady). The butcher—know his ring.      [Exit by door R.

G.J. (pointing fiercely to cupboard). Go!

M.B. (going). Bah! You triumph now, but my day will dawn yettah. (Starts.) What was that?

Newsboy (outside). War with Germany! War with Germany!

G.J. War? Then I am a pauper.      [He does not say how, but presumably he knows best.

M.B. (ceasing to go). My day has dawned now.

G.J. How so?

M.B. Your conscience calls you, does it not, to enlist? (George nods.) I have no conscience. While you fight I shall continue to press my suit.

G.J. (despairingly to himself). Alas! what chance will that sweet girl have against his dark saturnine