Landing, after all his men,
Clucking softly like a hen?

* * * * *

Up-to date quotation for foot-sore Londoners: "Et Tube, brute!"

* * * * *

THE MUD LARKS.

One reads a lot nowadays about the "slavery" of various habits (drug,
drink, bigamy, etc.) and loud is the outcry. But there is yet another
bondage, just as binding and far more widespread, which nobody ever
seems to mention, namely, the drill habit. Drill the young soldier up
in the way he should go and for ever after his body will spring to the
word of command, whether his soul approves or no.

Once upon a time two men turned up in a railway construction camp deep
in the Rhodesian bush. They were a silent, furtive, friendless pair,
dwelling apart, and nobody could discover whence they came, whither
they were bound, or, in fact, anything about them. It was generally
conceded that they had some horrid secret to bury (camp optimists
voted for "murder") and left it at that. Time went by and so did the
rail-head, leaving the two mysteries behind as permanent-way gangers.
Solitude seemed to suit them. Years passed along and still the two
remained in that abomination of desolation guarding their stretch of
track and their horrid secret. Then one day ROBERTS rolled by on his
way to Victoria Falls, and, his train halting to tank-up, the old
Field-Marshal stepped ashore and called to the two gangers, who