Produced by Al Haines THE MUD LARKS BY CROSBIE GARSTIN LIEUTENANT, 1st KING EDWARD'S HORSE NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER CAPTAIN DENIS NORMAN GARSTIN, D.S.O., M.C. ORDER OF ST. ANNE OF RUSSIA (10th ROYAL HUSSARS) KILLED IN ACTION NEAR ARCHANGEL, RUSSIA AUGUST 17th, 1918 "You gallop on unfooted asphodel... And wave beyond the stars that all is well." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. The "Ferts" II. Otto III. A. E.'S Bath and Brock's Benefit IV. The Messless Mess V. Climate at the Front VI. The Padre VII. The Riding-Master VIII. National Anthem IX. Horse Sense X. "Convey," the Wise It Call XI. Our Mess President XII. Funny Cuts XIII. Leave XIV. "Harmony, Gents!" XV. The Mule and the Tank XVI. War Paint XVII. The Pinch of War XVIII. The Regimental Mascot XIX. War Vegetation XX. A Change of Front XXI. Antonio Giuseppe XXII. "I Spy" XXIII. A Faux Pas XXIV. Mon Repos XXV. "Fly, Gentle Dove" XXVI. There and Back XXVII. Hot Air XXVIII. The Convert XXIX. A Best Cure XXX. The Harriers (I) XXXI. The Harriers (II) XXXII. The Camera Cannot Lie XXXIII. Lionel Trelawney XXXIV. The Booby Trap XXXV. The Phantom Army THE MUD LARKS I THE "FERTS" When I was young, my parents sent me to a boarding school, not in any hopes of getting me educated, but because they wanted a quiet home. At that boarding school I met one Frederick Delano Milroy, a chubby flame-coloured brat who had no claims to genius, excepting as a _littérateur_. The occasion that established his reputation with the pen was a Natural History essay. We were given five sheets of foolscap, two hours and our own choice of subject. I chose the elephant, I remember, having once been kind to one through the medium of a bag of nuts. Frederick D. Milroy headed his effort "The Fert" in large capitals, and began, "The fert is a noble animal----" He got no further, the extreme nobility of the ferret having apparently blinded him to its other characteristics. The other day, as I was wandering about on the "line," dodging Boche crumps with more agility than grace, I met Milroy (Frederick Delane) once more. He was standing at the entrance of a cosy little funk-hole, his boots and tunic undone, sniffing the morning nitro-glycerine. He had swollen considerably since our literary days, but was wearing his hair as red as ever, and I should have known it anywhere--on the darkest night. I dived for him and his hole, pushed him into it, and re-introduced myself. He remembered me quite well, shook my chilblains heartily, and invited me further underground for tea and talk.