My chance came the other day. I was strolling down Regent Street when three N.C.O.'s, including a sergeant, passed me. They did not salute. I might have been a civilian for all the notice they took of me. Ha! my hour had come. Turning, I hastened after them. "Sergeant, a word." They stopped and the Sergeant asked if I was speaking to him. "Have you ever heard of the little word 'Sir,' Sergeant?" I asked severely. "Evidently not. However I pass over that. But a moment ago you went by me without saluting. Deliberately--inexcusably. I was as close to you as I am now." "But how--" began the Sergeant. "Not a word," I cut him short. "Not a word. You know perfectly well that you have neglected your duty grossly. Now tell me. Is it your own idea to drop saluting, or has Mr. CHURCHILL had a word in your ear?" (Sarcasm is my strong point.) "But look here--" said the Sergeant, rather red in the face. "Do not interrupt," I thundered, warming to my work. "How, I ask, do you expect the ordinary soldier to salute when _you_ slink past officers--you, who ought to be a shining example? Now I am going to report--" Something in the Sergeant's eye, which seemed to be travelling over my person generally, made me suddenly glance down at myself, and it was then that, horror-struck, I realised that I was wearing for the first time my new ten-guinea suit. As I faded away the Sergeant clicked his heels and saluted smartly. * * * * * THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. "Lady will exchange clothing, self, little girl, for farm butter, eggs, jam."--_The Lady_. * * * * * [Illustration: _Infuriated Italian (who has recently purchased a British Army horse)._ "FAIR WORDS DID I SPEAK HIM, SAYING, 'PEDRO, AVANTI PIANISSIMO,' AND--BEHOLD!"] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. _(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)_