forty-nine was R.A.T.A., the one an' honly hexception bein' that wicked Cully 'Ookit. Did 'e sit hon the steps o' the Hofficers' Mess a playin' of 'is little bugle in 'is spare time to give 'is kind Orficers pleasure, as 'Orrice 'ad useter do? Not 'alf 'e didn't. Ho no! I don't fink. No, all ’is spare time was a took up in the Canteen where 'e loved ter set an' 'ear the pop o' the ginger-beer an' lemonade bottles a bein' opened for the good, self-respectin', total habstainin' men as was in the 'abit of rottin' their g—. . ."
Mrs. Perfect coughed loudly.
"—good hinteriors wiv sich gashious swipes. An' one day that abandoned young bloke. Cully 'Ookit, wot did 'e do but walk inter the Canteen, plank down 'alf a rupee, say as 'ow 'e were froze to 'is marrer along o' fallin' in the water when fishin', an' called fer a go o' rum, 'ot, wiv. Strike me purple! You should ha' seen the commotion there was in that Regiment o' good, self-respectin', total habstainin' men! Talk abaht never givin' their Colonel a moment's anxiety! Five 'undred of 'em run straight off to 'is bungalow to tell 'im wot 'ad 'appened, one 'undred
