While the Adjutant is working up his offensive on the Colonel's right flank, the Colonel himself is making independent sallies on the left, unless, of course, he is compelled to march his king out of a congested district into more open country. On the rare occasions when he is at a loss for a moment what to do he makes it a practice to move a pawn one square in order to gain time. By this method, unexpectedly but none the less jubilantly, he recovers his queen--only to see it laid low again by enfilading fire from a perfectly obvious redoubt. After twenty minutes of battle the Colonel's area becomes positively draughty, and the sole survivors of his dashing but sanguinary counter-attack, the king and two pawns, have assumed the bored and callous air of a remnant that has fought too long and is called upon to fight again. The Colonel has just unceremoniously pushed his sovereign to the rear with a flick of his nervous irritated little finger. His opponent can obviously bring him to his knees in two moves. Instead of which the Adjutant brazenly commences with massed bands and colours flying to execute a masterly tactical advance with the whole of his command--cavalry, infantry, church and tanks, in order to achieve the destruction of the two bantam bodyguards. This is not playing the game, and the Colonel fumes inwardly and frets outwardly. In the intervals of pressing down the unlit tobacco in his pipe with an oscillating thumb, he alternately pokes his king out of the corner and pulls it back again; while his transparent impulse is to scrap the board, wreck the ante-room and run amok. The Adjutant continues his innocent amusement until at last the pleasure wanes. The two heroic pawns are carried decently off, and he apologetically whispers his suspicions of a checkmate to his commanding officer. The Colonel brushes aside the Mess President's tinder-lighter, shatters the mute triumph of the serried black ranks of the hostile forces with one superb elevation of the eyebrows, smashes three matches in quick succession, and proves that all the time his mind has been preoccupied with weightier matters by saying after the manner of all true War Lords, "Umph." * * * * * [Illustration: _Tube Conductor_. "PASS FURTHER DOWN THE CAR, PLEASE! PASS FURTHER DOWN THE CAR, PLEASE!! (_In desperation_) ANY LADY OR GENTLEMAN PRESENT KNOW THE GERMAN FOR 'PASS FURTHER DOWN THE CAR'?"] * * * * * Sweetness and Light. O MATTHEW ARNOLD! you were right: We need more Sweetness and more Light; For till we break the brutal foe Our sugar's short, our lights are low. * * * * * A LUCID EXPLANATION.