So they had to spend a miserable night by the bivouac fire and get what amusement they could out of good stories. One, suggested perhaps by talk of chemists and surgical operations, is worthy to be preserved. To appreciate the point of the joke you must know that a lieutenant-general’s badges of rank are a sword and bâton crossed, with the crown above them. A man of the —— Yeomanry, then quartered in Bloemfontein, was suffering agonies from toothache, and, like our friend the corporal, had searched every hospital in vain for a surgeon who might have leisure to extract it. As he crossed the Market Square, a general of division whose kindness of heart is as notorious as his strength of language, was coming out of the Club. To him the yeoman advanced, and, after a hesitating preface, asked the General whether he would mind drawing a tooth. For a moment the General was dumbfounded, but then his powers of expression came back to him. ‘What the devil do you mean?’ he roared, thinking the yeoman was unpardonably familiar. The man’s face fell. ‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but our doctor’s on leave, and——’ ‘But,’ said the officer, smiling at the man’s mistake, ‘I’m not a doctor; I’m General ——’ The yeoman stammered, ‘But—but—your badge, sir!’ The General good-humouredly turned his shoulder to the abashed trooper. ‘Here you are, my lad; what’s the matter with the badge? “Crossed swords, bâton, and crown.”’ ‘Good heavens!’ said the man, ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, sir. I thought it was the skull and cross-bones!’ [Illustration: _Photo: F. Kapp & Co._ TRANSPORT AND WATER CARTS ]