Said that he was the officer, and that as the rank-and-file were
not allowed to pollute the same atmosphere, thought I should score.
After a mental review of all I could remember of the Weights and Measures
Table, accepted him. He bade a lingering farewell to the chair, and
departed.
Oct. 16.--Saw Q.M.S. Beddem on the other side of the road and gave him
an absolutely new thrill by crossing to meet him. Asked diffidently--as
diffidently as he could, that is--how many men my house would hold.
Replied eight--or ten at a pinch. He gave me a surprised and beaming
smile and whipped out a huge note-book. Informed him with as much regret
as I could put into a voice not always under perfect control, that I had
already got an officer. Q.M.S., favouring me with a look very
appropriate to the Devil's Own, turned on his heel and set off in pursuit
of a lady-billetee, pulling up short on the threshold of the baby-linen
shop in which she took refuge. Left him on guard with a Casablanca-like
look on his face.
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