And left her to play the game. IT was just when the grind of the Special Reserves, Employed upon Coast Defence, Was getting on every Ensign's nerves-- Sick-keen to be drafted hence-- That they met and played tennis and danced and sang, The lad with the laugh and the schoolboy slang, The girl with the eyes intense. YET it wasn't for him that she languished and sighed, But for all of our dear deemed youth; And it wasn't for her, but her sex, that he cried, If he could but have probed the truth ! Did she? She would none of his hot young heart; As khaki escort he's tall and smart, As lover a shade uncouth. HE went with his draft. She returned to her craft. He wrote in his merry vein: She read him aloud, and the Studio laughed! Ermyntrude bore the strain. He was full of gay bloodshed and Old Man Fritz: His flippancy sent her friends into fits. Ermyntrude frowned with pain. HIS tales of the Sergeant who swore so hard Left Ermyntrude cold and prim; The tactless truth of the picture jarred, And some of his jokes were grim. Yet, let him but skate upon tender ice, And he had to write to her twice or thrice Before she would answer him. YET once she sent him a fairy's box, And her pocket felt the brunt Of tinned contraptions and books and socks-- Which he hailed as "a sporting stunt!" She slaved at his muffler none the less, And still took pleasure in mur- muring, "Yes! For a friend of mine at the Front.") ONE fine morning his name appears-- Looking so pretty in print! "Wounded!" she warbles in tragedy tears-- And pictures the reddening