In friendly pidgin-Arabic they talked a little while, Then bade farewell to Abdul in the dinkum Aussie style; And as they sauntered back to camp they noticed with a grin, That Abdul’s goats had found the oats, and all were “wiring in.” The feeding flock came slowly towards the hedge of prickly pear. A fine big “billy” led the lot, quite eager for his share, And as he wandered close enough the prickly pear to feel, He “got it” quickly in the neck—a blade of polished steel. Then Bill and Breezy dragged their prize into the Squadron’s lines, Cut up the mass of quivering flesh in various designs. With plenty swords available they soon got off the hide; In less time than it takes to tell the billy-goat was fried. That night the stew was “counted out” and mutton reigned instead, And when old Abdul “counted in” his flock he hit his head In anger, for he came upon the remnants of the oats That Breezy Bob distributed to snare the Mukhtar’s goats. Since then the Military Police are looking for a clue; They never made enquiries about discarded stew, Or else they might have found the truth; and Bill and Breezy gloat, To tell the yarn in secrecy about the Mukhtar’s goat. “2469” [Illustration: BUYING ORANGES, JAFFA _By W. O. David Barker_ ] [Illustration] The Batman by W. M. W. With “stand to Arms” at half past three, in cold and wet and misery, Who brings a nice, warm cup of tea? “My Batman.” Who knows the movement of all troops and brings the dinkum with my boots? Who finds but never, never, loots. “My Batman.” The last to sleep, the first to rise, who sorts the rumor as it flies, and in a whisper puts me wise. “My Batman.” Fount of all wisdom without doubt who knows just what we are about but very seldom lets it out. The General’s Batman. Damascus