_Corporal._ Well, they'd better not come near _this_ post; they won't get no dates 'ere. _Sentry._ Corporal, I can see 'alf-a-dozen of them blighters coming along about a mile away. Shall I give 'em one? _Corporal._ No, you idiot. Let's 'ave a look at 'em first. _[Enter a middle-aged Arab, dressed in the most indescribable rags and in the last stage of exhaustion. He is followed at long intervals by his family to two generations, who watch his reception anxiously from afar.]_ _Arab (falling flat on his face at sight of the Corporal). Bimbashi, bimbashi, mongeries, mongeries._ _Corporal._ Yes, I'll bash yer all right. Grey-'eaded old reprobate, you ought to know better. _Arab (in an anguished voice). Mongeries, mongeries._ _1st Trooper._ Lord, he do look thin, por beggar. _Mongeries_--that means food, don't it? 'E looks as if 'e hadn't eaten nothing for weeks. 'Ere, 'ave a biscuit, old sport. _[Arab makes a spasmodic wriggle towards him.]_ _2nd Trooper._ Look out, Bill, 'e's going to bite your leg. _1st Trooper (with dignity)._ No, 'e ain't; 'e's a-going to kiss my boots. Gorblimy, 'e's a rum old devil! _Corporal (suddenly remembering his duty)._ 'Ere you, take your clothes off. Efta aygry. Strip. _[The Arab undoes his rags, which slip to the ground.]_ _2nd Trooper._ Blimy, Alf, look at 'em. I never see such a thing in my life. Look at that big one on his neck. _1st Trooper (suddenly)._ I say, old chap, don't you never 'ave a bath? _2nd Trooper._ Lord, though, ain't he thin? 'E's a fair skeleton. _[The Arab puts on his clothes again and falls exhausted with the effort.]_ _Corporal._ Pore old feller, 'e's fair done; give 'im a biscuit, Alf. _1st Trooper._ Try 'im with some bully; they say they won't eat that, though. _2nd Trooper._ Won't 'e! I never seen the stuff go so quick. 'Ere, old feller, don't eat the tin. _Corporal._ Don't give 'im any more or 'e'll kill 'isself. Let's see if his family can do the disappearing trick as quick as 'e can. Poor devils, they've been through something. 'Ere, you family, _mongeries_. _Tala henna._ _[The family are brought up and fed on the day's rations.]_ _2nd Trooper._ Lord, Alf, look at this kid; 'is legs ain't as thick as my finger; cries just like they do at 'ome too. 'Ere, 'ave a bit o' jam. _Corporal._ Take 'em back to camp now and 'and 'em over. Come on, old boy; you're all right. Lord, ain't they pretty near done. Lucky they found us when they did. * * * * * The Better Half. "Thames Ditton.--Attested man called up willing to let half house, or take another lady in similar position."--_Daily Telegraph._ * * * * * "WE GIVE OUR SONS." Such our proud cry--a vain and empty boast; Love did not ask so great a sacrifice; The first _reveille_ found you at your post; You knew the cost; clear-eyed you paid the price; Some far clear call we were too dull to hear Had caught your ear.