"You know, Mr. Jones, I know a most charming Englishman. He was our Jackaroo. A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for a job. He had a glass eye and insisted on wearing that and a white indiarubber collar when working round the show. They ragged him, but he stood it all. When they went too far he simply took off his jacket and punched them soft. No matter what dirty job he got, he did it and never whined. He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineage or his school. He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'd been a bit foolish at home. He is here in the Australian contingent; in fact, he's coming to see me to-night. Ah! here he is," she gleefully exclaimed, as a tall, well-built soldier, with a monocle, casually stepped on to the veranda.  "Come and be introduced?" 

 "What! To a Tommy," said the surprised subaltern. 

 "Yes—and a gentleman," Sybil emphasised. 

 "Hallo, dear boy!" 

 "Well, Sybil, what a surprise when I got your wire." 

 "Let me introduce Mr. Jones of the Yeomanry—Private Dufair." 

 Claud solemnly saluted. There was a twinkle in his eye as the surprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, "What—Claud Dufair? You were at Rugby with me!" 

 "The same, sir," said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full of suppressed mirth. 

 "Well, shake, old boy! How the devil are you? And, Tommy or no Tommy, you must have a bottle of fizz with me to-morrow night. Now, I'm not going to spoil sport. I've had an awful wigging from Miss Graham." 

 "My fiancée," interjected Claud. 

 "Lucky dog—put me down as your next-of-kin when you make your will. Good night." 

 "Good night," said the happy couple, passing on to the shade of the palms, where they renewed that love which is mightier than the sword. 

 

 

 Prev. P 33/77 next