C.O.'s, including a sergeant, passed me. They did not salute.
I might have been a civilian for all the notice they took of me. Ha!
my hour had come.
Turning, I hastened after them.
"Sergeant, a word."
They stopped and the Sergeant asked if I was speaking to him.
"Have you ever heard of the little word 'Sir,' Sergeant?" I asked
severely. "Evidently not. However I pass over that. But a moment ago
you went by me without saluting. Deliberately--inexcusably. I was as
close to you as I am now."
"But how--" began the Sergeant.
"Not a word," I cut him short. "Not a word. You know perfectly well
that you have neglected your duty grossly. Now tell me. Is it your own
idea to drop saluting, or has Mr. CHURCHILL had a word in your ear?"
(Sarcasm is my strong point.)
"But look here--" said the Sergeant, rather red in the face.
"Do not interrupt," I thundered, warming to my work. "How, I ask,
do you expect the ordinary soldier to salute when _you_ slink past
officers--you, who ought to be a shining example? Now I am going to
report--"
Something in the Sergeant's eye, which seemed to be travelling over my
person generally, made me suddenly glance down at myself, and it was
then that, horror-struck, I realised that I was wearing for the first
time my new ten-guinea suit.
As I faded away the Sergeant clicked his heels and saluted smartly.
* * * * *
THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
"Lady will exchange clothing, self, little girl, for farm butter,
eggs, jam.
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