"Where's the Orderly Officer?" (He was there with a mouthful of toast.) "Take the mess limber and fetch 'em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will let you--they're in there now, aren't they?" "And if you're g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner," said the Brigade Major; "everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse." "Why?" said the General. "Indigestion--nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all after dinner." "Good heavens!" said the General; "bring a turbot." * * * * * "Fish!" said the B.M. at dinner. "Bong!" "I brought the vanes, Sir." "Have any trouble?" "No, Sir. I saw the A.D.C., and said we had 'left them behind,' which was true, you know, Sir." (The O.O. for once felt himself the centre of interest and desired to improve the occasion). "We _did_ 'leave them behind,' so it wasn't a lie exactly ..." "I don't care if it was," said the General; "you've got 'em, that's the main thing." "Where will you have one put, Sir?" "In the fields," said the B.M. "Not too low," said the Captain. "Or too high," said Signals. "Or too far away," said the attached officer. "Well, now you know," said the General, "pass the chutney." They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly dug-in. * * * * * "Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning. "----!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the vernacular). "Where's our vane?" "It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I--" "We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went--General, Brigade Major (enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle. "North is--there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this is pointing--due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O. "Paralysed," said the B.M. "Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain. "It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants _oil_!" and the O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one). "Now pour it over the top--top, boy, top!" A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a handkerchief. "Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!" The B.M. smiled a smile (sickly, one). "That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!" "Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute." "It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm--West!" "The padre was right--it must be a fireguard, after all," said the Staff Captain. "Or a s-sundial," muttered the B.M. I believe the meteorological report was finally entered as: "Wind light to moderate (to strong), varying from East to West (_via_ North and South)."