Left his motor-bike in the garage, and
the smell in front of the dining-room window.
8 to 12 p.m.--Sat with Private Merited, listening to Lieut. True Born on
the mistakes of Wellington.
12.5 a.m.--Rose to go to bed. Was about to turn out gas in hall when I
discovered the lieutenant standing with his face to the wall playing pat-
a-cake with it. Gave him three-parts of a tumbler of brandy. Said he
felt better and went upstairs. Arrived in his bed-room, he looked about
him carefully, and then, with a superb sweep of his left arm, swept the
best Chippendale looking-glass in the family off the dressing table and
dived face down-wards to the floor, missing death and the corner of the
chest of drawers by an inch.
12:15 a.m.--Rolled him on to his back and got his feet on the bed. They
fell off again as soon as they were cleaner than the quilt. The
lieutenant, startled by the crash, opened his eyes and climbed into bed
unaided.
12.20 a.m.--Sent Private Merited for the M.O., Captain Geranium.
12.
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