_Chestnut_. Ladies, huh. Behave nice and ladylike when they catch sight of the nosebags, don't they? _A skewbald mare_. Well, we gotta stand up for our rights. _Chestnut_. S'truth you do, tooth and hoof. What were you in civil life, Baby? A Suffragette? _Skewbald_. No, I wasn't, so there. _Bay_. No, she was a footlights favourite; wore her mane in plaits and a star-spangled bearing-rein and surcingle to improve her fig-u-are; did pretty parlour tricks to the strains of the banjo and psaltery. _N'est-ce pas, chérie?_ _Skewbald_. Well, what if I did? There's scores of circus-gals is puffect lydies. I don't require none of your familiarity any'ow, Mister. _Bay_. Beg pardon. Excuse my bluff soldierly ways; but nevertheless take your nose out of my hay-net, please. _A Canadian dun_. Gee! quit weavin' about like that, Tubby. Can't you let a guy get some sleep. I'll hand you a cold rebuff in the ribs in a minute. Wazzer matter with you, anyhow? _Tubby_. Had a bad dream. _Black_. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself. _Bay_. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's the only one that gets the chance. _Skewbald_. And the Officers' chargers. _Voice from over the way_. Well, we need it, don't we? We do all the bally head-work. _Bay_. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, Monty there! Never mind about the bally head-work, but next time you're out troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching the straight. You had the line opening and shutting like a concertina this morning. _An iron-grey_. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs was goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the way you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight line, Monty avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken. _Monty_. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp. _Canadian dun_. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me smile. Why, out West we got flies that-- _Iron-grey_. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as big as bull-dogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a limb. Many a time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a foal in their jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' that whin one of the effete European variety is afther ticklin' you in the short hairs you step very free an' flippant, Johnny acushla. _A brown horse_. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got a pal at G.H.Q., haven't you? _Monty_. Oh, yes, my young brother. He's got a job on HAIG'S personal Staff now, wears a red brow-band and all that--ahem! Of course he tells me a thing or two when we meet, but in the strictest confidence, you understand. _Brown_. Quite; but did he say anything about the end of the War? _Monty_. Well, not precisely, that is not exactly, excepting that he says that it's pretty certain now that it--er--well, that it will end. _Brown_. That's good news. Thanks, Monty. _Monty_. Not a bit, old thing. Don't mention it.