The Outpost Vol 1 - The Royal Highland Fusiliers

THE OllTPOST.
31
1 paid my check at the cash desk and Alison
led the way into Sauchiehall Street.
I have a confused recollection of innumerable
shop windows filled with lay figures in semi·
military dress. One particular outfit remains
in my memory-a vision in a khaki tunic, with
breast and hip pockets, a sash combining the
colours of the Allies, a tartan kilted-skirt, and,
crowning all, a velvet fatigue cap. If these are
the fruits of war, let us have peace! Though
our young men have of necessity donned
military garb, r see no reason for our girls to
follow suit. We should like to return and find
them as feminine as we left them.
By the time we had boarded a westward·
bound car at Charing Cross, I was more tired
than I have been after a day's route·marching.
I was at long-last able to appreciate the temper
of our women folk at the end of an afternoon's
shopping.
" Alison," I said at length, being determined
to keep up, at least, a show of interest on the
subject of fashions, " You haven't said whether
blue is to be popular this Spring. It's the naval
colour, you know, not to speak of the Commercial
Battalion."
" What a pity you weren't in town when
the • Pearl Girl' was at the King's," said
Alison. "It was ripping."
I saw her again on Sunday afternoon, but
Spring fashions did not form the topic of
conversation.
Having safely caugb-t the seven o'clock train
on Monday morning, I spent the journey to
Troon considering whether I was bold enough
to write that ladies' page, but my courage
failed me. These lines, however, bear witness
of my loyalty to Alison's Great Idea--or was it
my own?
OBSEHVER,
I used to know a little maid,
A blossom fair,
With eyes a laughing brownish shade.
'Vith lips that seemed for kisses made,
And finer than an old brocade
Her silken hair.
Her smiles and frowns she threw on all,
Like an expert;
And though but ten years old, and small,
The host of gallants she could call
To hold her fan, her glove, her shawl­
The little flirt!
I used to be her willing slave,
Ah! happy lot!
She scolded, did I misbehave,
Then turned at once and quite forgave,
Because she had a boon to crave-
The artful tot!
And we were just as chummy then
As churns could be ;
Oft do I remember when
She wished that I were only ten,
Because, she said, she hated men-
All men but me !
But time has passed, and year by year
We both have aged:
She's now eighteen, or very near,
A reigning belle, calm and severe,
Then, too, what makes it seem more (lucer,
She's now engaged!
Sometimes I wonder if she thinks
Of days when she
And I were mates in childish jinks.
Ah, no! she's now a frozen Sphinx
For she's engaged, the little minx,
Engaged to me ! ! I
J. M'K,
" They also serve who only stand and wait,"
Thev also stand who only wait and serve;
Milton was right, but we would tell him straight,
'Waiting and standing need a tombstone's nerve.
* * '* '* *
Someone ventured to explain that "echelon"
was a little animal that changes its colour.
* * * * *
A Battalion hair cut is all the rage. It is
suggested that if our tonsorial artist was to set up
business as a cushion stuffer he'd make a fortune.