His
repartees are famous, and none knows better than he how to score off
an unpopular officer or N.C.O. He has the distinction also of having
spent more days in the guard-room than any other man in the battalion.
On the occasion when identity discs were being served out to the men
and a momentary stir pervaded the battalion, it was Wankin who first
became involved in trouble.
He employed the disc string to fasten the water-bottle of the man
on his left to the haversack of the man on his right, and the
colour-sergeant, livid with rage, vowed to chasten him by confining
him eternally to barracks. But the undaunted company scapegrace was
not to be beaten. Fastening the identity disc on his left eye he fixed
a stern look on the sergeant.
"My deah fellah," he drawled out, imitating the voice of the company
lieutenant who wears an eyeglass, "your remarks are uncalled for,
really. By Jove! one would think that a scrap of string was a gold
bracelet or a diamond necklace. I could buy the disc and the string
for a bloomin' 'apenny."
"You'll pay dearly for it this time," said the colour with fine irony.
"Three days C.B.[2] your muckin' about'll cost you." And before Wankin
could reply the sergeant was reporting the matter to the captain.
[Footnote 2: Confinement to Barracks.]
Wankin is eternally in trouble, although his agility in dodging
pickets and his skill in making a week's C.B. a veritable holiday are
the talk of the regiment. All the officers know him, and many of them
who have been victims of his smart repartee fear him more than
they care to acknowledge.
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