Tae young Territorial officer was acting as orderly officer, and he decided he would turn out the guard.
So he approached the sentry and demanded, "What are your orders?"
The sentry, who was a raw young recruit, became excited, and, instead of the odd half-dozen on the board he could only recall one.
By way of helping him, the officer suggested, "And our beat?" (meaning the length of his beat.)
"Yes, sir I'm afraid I am," the recrüit admitted, Fortunately, the officer had a sense of hum-
Sound answer," he chuckled, Blonde or Brunette HoLtYwoob, characteristically enough, is about twenty years behind me, writes Showman in the "Daily Herald." They say it has only just discovered that brunettes are as "glamour-y ous" as blondes.
Blonde or brunette, Brunette or blonde, Of both, my friend, I am equally fond, Anyhow, that is the basis of the philosophy which has guided me through life I would never admit that blondes were more this, or brunettes more that. j it there was Ulla, the golden Swede, was there not Valeria, the Hungarian, with the purple of the night in her black hair? If there was Erika, the fair Hollander, what of Malalaal-Azoor, the dark beauty of Baghdad?
"We were told, some years ago, that blondes were preferred by gentlemen—or sugar daddies, as I believe the technical term was in America, But I never knew that the more thunderous charms of Malala-al-Azoor were denied by the Baghdaddies.
Matata-al-Azoor! What days those were in old Baghdad (whose atmosphere would have given the smell society something to dream about), Her name meant fountain of turquoise, and she danced most exquisitely—chaperoned everywhere, I hasten to add, by her voluminous mother or Baghmammy.
into her courtyard and whistled under the One night, greatly daring, vaulted the wall peach tree. Malala appeared at her window.
"Fly with me!" I breathed.
"Will you love me always and always?" she breathed back.
"Always, O ecstasy of tinkling Noises!" I breathed again.
By this time our breathing had stirred the peach tree, and its rustling must have roused her mother, "Swear you will always love me!" breathed Malala.
"I swear!" I breathed hard. "By that full moon which—"
But the moon was really a rapidly descending basin accurately dropped by the mother, and I knew no more. When I regained consciousness I was lying in the Street of the barbers 48 Aunts. I could never find Malala's house again.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.