Punch, or the London Charivari

hunger had got the better of the Sergeant. Though he had got the right receipt and signed it, he had signed it in the wrong place.

On May 5th I procured a light lorry, packed into it the Camp Commandant, the Sergeant, myself, as many of the forty-nine officers as I could lure, pens, ink and paper, and, by mere weight of numbers, I overcame the Field Cashier. He scribbled his initials everywhere, inquired in notes of what value we would take the money, and undertook, on his personal honour, that upon his very next visit to our headquarters (where the payment should properly be made) the notes should be ours. I asked the Sergeant triumphantly what more he could want. He saluted emphatically at the prospect of receiving, on May 8th, the money wherewith to buy his food for the period March 1st to April 3rd (inclusive).

It was indeed an achievement. Not only were all authorities in existence and duly authorised, but the authorities who had authorised the authorities were themselves authorised in wri