“Yes, Sir. Copy of the _Times_, Sir,” said Jenkins, without a quiver, and went forth to make his own arrangements. “Copy of the _Times_,” said the blameless Alf, from beneath his blanket. “I ain’t a member of the Soldier’s Institoot. Go an’ look in the reg’mental Readin’-room—Veldt Row, Kopje Street, second turnin’ to the left between ’ere an’ Naauwport.” Jenkins summarised briefly in a tense whisper the thing that Alf Copper need not be. “But my particular copy of the _Times_ is specially pro’ibited by the censor from corruptin’ the morals of the Army. Get a written order from K. o’ K., properly countersigned, an’ I’ll think about it.” “I’ve got all _you_ want,” said Jenkins. “’Urry up. I want to ’ave a squint myself.” Something gurgled in the darkness, and Private Copper fell back smacking his lips. “Gawd bless my prisoner, and make me a good boy. Amen. ’Ere you are, Jenkins. It’s dirt cheap at a tot.” STEAM TACTICS THE NECESSITARIAN I know not in whose hands are laid To empty upon earth From unsuspected ambuscade The very Urns of Mirth: Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise And cheer our solemn round— The Jest beheld with streaming eyes And grovellings on the ground; Who joins the flats of Time and Chance Behind the prey preferred, And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance The Sacredly Absurd, Till Laughter, voiceless through excess. Waves mute appeal and sore, Above the midriff’s deep distress, For breath to laugh once more. No creed hath dared to hail him Lord, No raptured choirs proclaim, And Nature’s strenuous Overword Hath nowhere breathed his name. Yet, may it be, on wayside jape, The selfsame Power bestows The selfsame power as went to shape His Planet or His Rose. STEAM TACTICS I caught sight of their faces as we came up behind the cart in the narrow Sussex lane; but though it was not eleven o’clock, they were both asleep. That the carrier was on the wrong side of the road made no difference to his language when I rang my bell. He said aloud of motor-cars, and specially of steam ones, all the things which I had read in the faces of superior coachmen. Then he pulled slantwise across me. There was a vociferous steam air-pump attached to that car which could be applied at pleasure…. The cart was removed about a bowshot’s length in seven and a quarter seconds, to the accompaniment of parcels clattering. At the foot of the next hill the horse stopped, and the two men came out over the tail-board. My engineer backed and swung the car, ready to move out of reach. “The blighted egg-boiler has steam up,” said Mr. Hinchcliffe, pausing to gather a large stone. “Temporise with the beggar, Pye, till the sights come on!” “I can’t leave my ’orse!” roared the carrier; “but bring ’em up ’ere, an’ I’ll kill ’em all over again.” “Good morning, Mr. Pyecroft,” I called cheerfully. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?” The attack broke up round my forewheels.