“You mean to say you ain’t got no milk?” demanded the cook aggrievedly.
“No—I ain’t.” Brown emerged and mopped his brow wearily.
“Couldn’t you find the cow? I told you where it was.” The Doctor’s orderly ceased placing chloride of lime on the tomb of a rat. “And wot ’ave you done to your face? It’s ’orrible. Worse than usual.”
“Less about my face.” Brown’s retort was a trifle heated. “I tells you, when I got to that there place you told me of—you couldn’t see the perishing cow for the crowd. There was a row of blokes with mess tins, and one of ’em ’ad a dixie. When it come to my turn, I sits down by the old girl, and puts the tin on the floor. I got one jet going for about five seconds and that missed the blooming bucket. Then she shut up, and not another drop could I get. A perisher in the gunners, ’e says, ‘Pull ’arder,’ ’e says, ‘Great strength returns the penny.’ So I got down to it like, just to wake ’er up, when blowed if she didn’t ’op it. ’Opped it, and kicked me in the faice as a souvenir.” He felt the injured member tenderly.
“I don’t know as ’ow I notice much the
