them. At any rate, there were some who lost flesh in a part that would
insure them having a smaller following thereafter.

There was a battle fought in Cairo for which there will be no medals
distributed and to which stay-at-home Australians think there is no
honor attached, but I doubt if any one who took part in the battle of
the Wasir, except maybe the military police, are ashamed of what they
did. Any one who knows Cairo knows that there is a part of it that is
not mentionable at dinner-table. It is the sink of the world. Every
large city has its sore, but Cairo has an ulcer. This vile spot made
the clean lads from the wind-swept plains and scented bush of Australia
absolutely sick. The Australian is a practical idealist, and for him
to see dirt is to want to remove it. Besides which, this place was a
nest of spies and enemies. There were several of our boys who
disappeared, and, though it may be said they had no right there, the
sign "No Admittance" is one that the average Australian has never been
able to read. It was one of those scraps that no one starts but that
breaks out of itself, because it has been brewing so long. There were
a few thousand of the boys in Cairo that night, and when the news
spread it did not take long for more to come in from Mena and other
camps. They did not wait for the motorman to start his car, but in
many cases commandeered it for the time being. Things moved quite
warmly for an hour or two: ladies of low degree scuttled like rats and
panders dashed for safety, while "owners" in princely motorcars turned
almost as white as their livers as they saw their "warehouses of
virtue" going up in flame. Two incidents are very vivid--the sight of
a grand piano tumbling out of a five-story window and one of the
aforesaid "owners" trying to remonstrate with the avengers, and having
his car run into the fire. The military police tried to interfere
early in the game, but only made matters worse, as they were pretty