122 TALES OF A NOMAD. 



time for fighting. You are not comfortable. You have 

 not shaved, tubbed, and had a good breakfast preparatory 

 to going into the next world. 



I can well understand the feeling that prompted the 

 Athenians to comb their locks and beautify themselves 

 before the immortal stand they made at Thermopylae. 



My witty friend observed that the general was really 

 too bad, and that before they hanged a man they gave 

 him a good breakfast ; whereas we were to be shot on a 

 cup of coffee and a biscuit. 



This was an insubordinate remark to which I did not 

 deign to reply. 



Let no man tell me that the stomach is not a great 

 factor in fighting. Were I ever to go out with a pro- 

 fessed duellist, do you think I would go out in the nasty 

 damp chilly morning, with my courage down in the soles 

 of my boots ? Not a bit of it. Dinner at 8 P.M., a pint 

 of champagne, a couple of glasses of Burgundy, a whisky 

 and soda and a cigar, evening prayers ; and then, if it is 

 my duty to face him, bring on your duellist and see if I 

 don't cook his goose. 



Talk about the glory of war ! It is all very fine when 

 you are drawn up in line and the general rides up after 

 keeping you waiting for an hour (why do generals and 

 royal highnesses always keep you waiting?). "See the 

 conquering hero comes " general salute, break into 

 column and march past. Bump, bump, bump goes the 

 big drum. You feel all alive big, as one might say, and 

 are ready to engage in personal conflict with the devil if 

 required to do so. But be chilly, sleepy and hungry at 

 four in the morning, and the gilt seems to have been 

 rubbed off the image of the war-god. 



However, a truce to reflections. 



