act," demanded the President, adding, "and I'll see if I like it."
"Very well," proceeded Buster. "Scene—the regimental parade-ground of the Rutlandshires. Time—Seven a.m., the day before yesterday.
"Dramatis Personæ—Private William Jones, Corporal Crook, Sergeant Small, Colour-Sergeant Crocker, The Sergeant-Major, and Second Lieutenant Snooks, Captain Crow, Lieutenant-and-Adjutant Long, Colonel Black, with all the rest of the Rutlands in the background as—you know—spectators, chorus, noise without, mob, retainers, family lawyers, and village idiots—regiment on parade in fact. . . . "
"Private William Jones to Corporal Crook—'I feels very bad inside, I do, Corpril. . . . I'm agoin' to be ill, I am. . . .'
"Corporal Crook to Sergeant Small—'Jones feels very bad, 'e do. Wants to be ill, 'e does.'
"Sergeant Small to Colour-Sergeant Crocker—'Jones says can 'e be ill.'
"Colour-Sergeant Crocker to Second Lieutenant
