"Well—not exactly. Of course I know they’re beastly people—beer drinkers and sausage guzzlers. Still, that doesn’t say that the word ’enemy’ means that race in particular. What is your opinion, M’Whiskey?" "Niggers, sir." "Not necessarily; the enemy may be white or black. But the meaning is simply this, any force opposed to——" "The Mileeshy," interjected some one. "Well, have it that way if you care. Now, M’Ginty, what is the first thing expected of a soldier in the field?" "The salute, sir." "No—Instant Obedience. And what is the next thing, M’Haggis?" "He should waash his feet." "That’s important, certainly, otherwise your feet will become objectionable. Now, the second thing is Courage; and the third, Doolan?" "Head erect an’ thumbs in line with the seam of the troose, sir," said Doolan, glibly repeating some of the Drill Instructor’s patter. "I’m afraid you couldn’t keep your head erect, et cetera, if the enemy was potting bullets into that beery corporation of yours. The third thing is Endurance. What does that mean, Tamson?" "The Prudential, sir." "Prudential! What the d—— is that?" "Threepence a week—insurin’ your life—ye ken fine, a’ you toffs are insured." "Don’t be so beastly familyah, my man——" "Haw—haw," mimicked some one in the back seat. "Look here, you pudding-faced fellow," said the captain, adjusting his monocle, "I’ll kick your posterior if I have any more nonsense—I will." Having settled that little affair, the captain proceeded. "Active Service, men, is different to sham fights. At manœuvres at home you get your beef, bread, and extras; on active service it’s biscuits, bully beef, and——" "Sudden daith," cheeped a wag. "Yes. You’re liable to get a fifteen-pound shell into your little Mary any day. Do you think a man could live after getting a shell there, Callaghan?" "Depends on his chist measurement, sur." "I’m afraid he wouldn’t have any chest after that. He would be——" "Irish stew." "Exactly." "Now, what is the first thing you do when you see the enemy?" "Take his name an’ address, sir," said a sheepish-looking recruit who had been chucked out of the Police Force. "Oh! I’m afraid he would have your life while you were doing that. No, my lad—get under cover, and then——" "Knock his lights out." "That’s the sort of answer I want. But how would you knock him out?" "Below the belt, sir," cheeped Tamson. "Look here, Tamson, this isn’t a bally boxing-school. And don’t be so flippant. What you have got to do, men, is Shoot—and Shoot well. And what I next want to know is, what happens after a force has concentrated a severe rifle-fire on an enemy’s position for a considerable time?" "Stick yer bayonets in their guts," answered M’Whiskey. "That’s how Carlyle would put it, and that’s just exactly what you have got to do. But when advancing to the Charge, what does the attacking party do?" "Makes a hellifa noise, sir."