He handed me the letter. Then I realised what was amiss. My friend
had not reckoned with the War Office. They call a spade a spade in
Whitehall (unless they refer to it as "shovels, one.")

"Oh," said I, "I see. Yes, Macedonia. Slight misunderstanding. It's
written from Ireland all right. There's the Irish Command stamp on it.
'Come over to Macedonia and help us.' Biblical phrase. St. PAUL, you
know. Just a figure of speech. My friend meant it metaphorically."

"The devil he did," barked the Staff man. "Then why the blazes didn't
he say so?"

Of course, why didn't he say so? Very stupid of him. One can't be too
literal in dealing with the War Office, that notorious fount of clear
and orderly diction.

My plan nearly went West, and I was nearly sent East. It was only the
Headquarters' stamp that turned the scale in my favour.

It was lucky for my friend that I ultimately got leave to help him
in his educational duties. Cleanly he is himself sadly lacking in the
very rudiments of official culture.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Magistrate_. "BUT WHAT WERE YOU DOING TO ALLOW A MAN
OF THE PRISONER'S PHYSIQUE TO GIVE YOU A BLACK EYE?"

_Constable_. "ON THE MORNING OF TOOSDAY, THE FIRST OF APRIL, YOUR