It was then that a stroke of genius (unfortunate, as it turned out, but a stroke of genius nevertheless) occurred to me. "Why not say that your manager is a complete fool and in his hands the business is going to rack and ruin?" I said. He bit at it like a tiger, and only the law of libel prevented him putting it into execution there and then; but all the same we had a jolly fine argument (six of us) about it for some three hours, and nobody got put out of the room for introducing acrimony into the discussion. Finally, he said that he was sure his brother wouldn't mind his saying it about _him_, and the application went in as follows:-- _To Adjutant, First Crackshire Regt._ Sir,--I have the honour to submit for the approval and recommendation of the Commanding Officer this my application for two months' business leave in the following special circumstances:-- The necessity of my presence in the business (wholesale hardware) has become more and more urgent of late. It is imperative that I should get home at once owing to the total incapability of my partner to carry out simple directions which are dictated by letters, and it is no exaggeration to say that the business, which has been built up almost entirely by my efforts, must inevitably collapse unless it receives my personal attention at once. My address would be, etc., etc., London. I am, Sir, Your obedient Servant, etc., etc. The Adjutant looked serious when he read it. So did Cook, for he thought the Adjutant had noted the London address and had remembered the business was in Bristol. But it was all right. It wasn't that at all really. Pencil and squared paper are poor means of conveying information at any time, and when the Adjutant had been assured that the business was really "wholesale hardware," and not "wholesale hardbake," as he had first read it, everything went swimmingly. The C.O. signed it and off it went on its momentous journey. Cook began to take a renewed interest in his platoon, and, having discovered the recalcitrant one of No. 11 actually coming on parade with only the front of the tip of his bayonet-scabbard polished, he took a fiendish delight in seeing the criminal writhing under the brutal and savage sentence of three days' C.B. A week later he got a great surprise. His brother-partner turned up with a draft of men and found himself posted to the battalion. The brothers met, as only brothers can, with the words, "What the deuce are you doing here?" Highly elated, Cook told him about the application for business leave and gloated over his chances of being home first, and on full pay too. His brother was intensely amused, and they both laughed heartily, when he told us that he himself, while waiting at the reception-camp with the draft, had put in much the same kind of application, saying the same kind of things about Cook.