John Brown

, when Beefy blew in with the information that he had managed to get the company o

king it on?'

em. They are a lousy lot; always swinging the lead

e pole-axed,' m

hy

bles, cows' dung, and water? If you'd develop your old fat head, you'd do bet

n to shake your liver up. Every blessed thing that c

d-all of our existence. Sport was invented only to keep down your adipose tissue and turn you into a decent citi

lthy animal, only fit for Rugger and philandering; while Beefy held the view that Ginger's physical laziness was a menace to the company and the Empire. I

round the fire and let's have t

he talks about beating B Company I'm with him. But behind it all is that insane idea that gam

ld Pieface!' c

[Beefy] can't pull through with my headpiece, I'll pull through with my zest for games." And he'll do it, for the old commandant believes in sportsmen. Beefy will make a jolly good sub., but a rotten general. He will carry out any order, and his

blic school system. I'm not a saint, I know; but I do things in the light, and am not afraid to talk about them. You're a measly Covenanter. You couldn't do ten miles at a trot to save you

' ejaculat

ed" materialist again,' re

the other's all beef. Out there [Canada] these fellows don't cut ice. They can't work, and they won't work. You can see them with their tongues hanging out in Calgary saloons, or cow-punching on Armour's beef-canning stations. They ain't soft, but they ain't wise. They're all right in

' said Billy, closing his noteb

uess

old Pieface,'

qualifications

nd they make us

sn't Oxford, and Beefy isn't Cambridge. Ten minutes in the Old Country doe

s all moons

for wives and knighthoods. You'd sell your soul to sleep in Bu

we wanted to push through a

sportsmen? Th

n a barrage. Horse-sense and push-an'-go is a live scheme. You're real good, real kind; but it makes me tired to see the noo

good about u

, Germans, and assassins. But we can't see you fall. The Old Land is Our Land. It's the Old Home, Billy, and that's why I'm in. God help the Huns when I go out! I'll go "West" before t

test artist Canada has

understand it. All the drivel you got in the Union won't wash

leman. All the Rugger men are either dead, wounded, fighting, or training for commissions. If they can't sell night-shirts or soap, they can obey orders, and there's no doubt they played the game in August 1914. Never mind about "after the war." We can leave that to Nobby's crowd. They'll be running the show. We shall be much happier ra

m,' mutte

a'n't be there to-morrow?' r

ed the run,

? Wait