come outside an’ settle the question.
“‘Don’t be absurd,’ sez Bertie. ‘Nobody can tell me anything about alch’ol: it was discovered by a monk in 1320, when ‘e was searchin’ for the philosopher’s stone. It is known at Lloyd’s as a deadly sporadic an—’
“‘Shut up,’ sez Nobby; ‘we don’t want to know the geography an’ ‘istory of it, we want to know ‘ow many pints of beer it takes to kill a chap.’
“‘Thirty-one gallons an’ two pints, as said before,’ sez Bertie, huffily; ‘an’ in future, Private Clark, I don’t want you to send for me to settle canteen controversialities.’
“‘Wot’s that last word?’ sez Nobby, after Bertie had gone. ‘Somethin’ insultin’, I’ll lay.’
BERTIE’S ALMA MATER
“Me an’ Nobby ‘appened to be over at the coffee shop next night — it was the night before pay day, or we wouldn’t ‘ave been wastin’ our time — when in comes Bertie.
“‘E’s got an ‘orrid languid way of lookin’ round, an’ it was a minute or two before ‘e spots me an’ Nob.
“‘Ullo, Clark,’ ‘e sez, with a nod just the same as if ‘e was an officer. ‘Ullo, Smithy.’
“‘Ullo, face,’ sez Nobby, who’s always got a kind word for every one.
“‘I’m gettin’ tired of this sort of life,’ sez Bertie, in a weary voice. ‘I’ve got too much wot the French call savoir faire.’
“‘See a doctor,’ sez Nobby, ‘or take plenty of exercise, like I do.’
“‘You misunderstand me, Clark,’ sez Bertie, with a sad smile. ‘But, there, ‘ow should you know, my poor feller?’
“‘Bertie,’ sez Nobby.
“‘What?’ sez Bertie.
“‘Don’t call me a “pore feller,”’ sez Nobby, ‘or I’ll give you a dig in the eye.’
“‘Don’t lose your temper, Clark,’ sez Bertie, hasty. ‘What I meant to say was, you can’t be expected to comprehend ‘ow it feels for a chap who’s drove ‘is own brougham to be ordered about by cads of officers, cads an’ bounders that my alma mater wouldn’t ‘ave in ‘er set.’
“‘Who’s she?’ sez. Nobby.
“‘My rich aunt,’ sez Bertie.
“‘Livin’ in the Marylebone Road?’ sez Nobby.
“‘No,’ sez Bertie, carelessly: ‘Porchester Gate.’
“‘Ah,’ sez Nobby, thoughtful, ‘that’s a work’ouse that must ‘ave been built quite lately—’ow London grows, to be sure.’
“Bertie smiled an’ shook ‘is ‘ead.
“‘Ah, Clark!’ ‘e sez with a pityin’ look, ‘there’s a good old French sayin’ that goes, “Ontry noo sivvoo play,” which means, “Don’t argue with a fool.’
“‘There’s another good ole French proverb, sez Nobby, ‘that sez, “Chuprao soor.”’
“‘What does that mean?’ sez Bertie surprised, so Nobby told ‘im.
THE BUN-WALLAH
“Bertie wasn’t what you might call popular with the troops. For one thing ‘e used long words that nobody even ‘eard before, an’ for the other, ‘e was a bun-wallah of the worst kind.”
(It is, I might say, one of the wilful fallacies of the Army that teetotallers live entirely on lemonade and buns.)
“We don’t mind so much a chap bein’ a teetotaller; every man to ‘is taste, an’ I’ve known some very good chaps in that line, but Bertie used to carry ‘is fads a bit too far.
“For instance, ‘e got me an’ Nobby one night down to an A.T.A. (Army Temperance Association) meetin’, an’ so worked on Nobby’s feelin’s, by promisin’ to lend him ‘arf a crown till pay day, that Nobby ups an’ signs the pledge.
“‘I feel a diff’rent man already,’ sez Nobby, after Bertie ‘ad parted with the money, ‘I do, indeed.’
“‘Ah,’ sez Bertie, proudly, ‘you’ll feel better when you’ve ‘ad a week of it. Don’t let your boon companions lure you back to the old ‘abit,’ ‘e sez.
“‘No fear,’ sez Nobby, putting the ‘arf-crown in ‘is pocket.
“‘Not so much of the boon companions, Bertie,’ I sez, knowin’ what ‘e was eayin’ was a smack for me.
“‘When: they offer you the pot — refuse it like a man,’ sez Bertie, working hisself up to a great state.
“‘I will,’ sez Nobby.
“‘Look ‘ere,’ sez Bertie, excitedly, ‘come up to the canteen now, an’ put yourself to the test.’
“‘Right you are,’ sez Nobby, quick; ‘let’s ‘urry up before it’s shut.’
“So we all went up to the canteen, an’ the first thing that ‘appened when we got inside was Dusty Miller offerin’ Nobby ‘arf a gallon can. “‘Drink ‘arty, Nobby,’ sez Dusty.
“Nobby looks at the can, then looks at Bertie, an’ Bertie was smilin’ ‘appily all over ‘is face.”
“‘No,’ sez Nobby, chokin’, ‘no, Dusty, you mean well, but I’m on the tack — on the lemonade tack,’ ‘e sez. ‘Good Nobby,’ sez Bertie.
“‘Let me take one last look at the cursed stuff,’ sez Nobby, takin’ the pot in ‘is ‘and; ‘one last sniff,’ ‘e sez, ‘one last taste o’ the poison,’ ‘e sez, an’ before we knew what ‘ad ‘appened ‘e’d ‘arf emptied the can.
“‘It’s no good, Bertie,’ ‘e sez sadly, ‘the temptation is too strong, it’s in me blood,’ ‘e sez. ‘You can ‘ave your ‘arf-crown back on pay day.”
*
“What chaps didn’t like about Bertie most was the way ‘e was always goin’ on about ‘is come-down in the world, ‘ow e might have been livin’ up in the West End, goin’ to theatres every night of ‘is life, an’ drinkin’ port wine with ‘is meals, if ‘e ‘adn’t been such a fool as to enlist.
“One night when ‘e was’ playin’ billiards in the library Nobby got Bertie to settle a point whether an earl was an ‘igher rank than a countess,
“‘A countess, of course,’ sez Bertie.
“‘For why?’ sez Nobby.
“Bertie gave a pityin’ sort of laugh.
“‘A countess is a lady count, an’ a count is next to a marquis,’ ‘e see.
“‘Ow do you know?’ sez Nobby.
“Bertie gave a sort of a tired sigh, an’ looked at the ceilin’.
“‘My dear Clark,’ ‘e sez, ‘it ain’t for me to boast of the people I met before I come down in the world, but I might say I’ve met certain parties — no names mentioned — that our officers ain’t even on speakin’ terms with.’
“‘In shops?’ sez Nobby.
“‘No, in country ‘ouses,’ sez Bertie stiffly.
“‘Leave off pullin’ Bertie’s leg,’ sez Spud Murphy, who always likes to get a rise out of Nobby. ‘Anybody can see Bertie’s