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Updated: June 15, 2025
Master Cockerell trots off on his mud-splashed steed, followed by the respectful and appreciative salutes of his followers appreciative, because a less considerate officer would have taken the whole party direct to the Town Major's office and kept them standing in the street, wasting moments which might have been better employed elsewhere, until it was time to proceed with the morning's work.
The Seventeenth Geordies moved out yesterday. You can have that." He indicated a triangular section with his pencil. Master Cockerell gave a deprecatory cough. "We have come here, sir," he intimated dryly, "for a change of scene." The stout Town Major all Town Majors are stout chuckled. "Not bad for a Scot!" he conceded. "But it's quite a cheery district, really.
Cockerell came straight from a crack public-school corps, where he had been a cadet officer; so nothing in the heaven above or the earth beneath was hid from him. Struthers owed his superior rank to the fact that in the far back ages, before the days of the O.T.C., he had held a commission in a University Corps.
"Their own billet is just round the corner, sir," replied Cockerell. "They might as well go there, thank you."
There's no sense in taking risks after you've done your job." Cockerell assented, a little sleepily. His allowance of rum was bringing its usual vulgar but comforting influence to bear upon an exhausted system. "I see you have been wounded, sir," he observed, noting with a little surprise two gold stripes upon his host's left sleeve the sleeve of a "non-combatant." "Yes," said the Major.
Cockerell replied that such books relieved the tedium of divine service, on which Butler made a note ending thus: Give me rather a robin or a peripatetic cat like the one whose loss the parishioners of St. Clement Danes are still deploring.
Alphonso's desperate attempt to translate the foregoing idiom into French was interrupted by Madame's retirement into the house, whither she beckoned Cockerell to follow her. In the front room she produced a frayed sheet of paper, which she proffered with an apologetic smile. The paper said: This billet is entirely reserved for the Supply Officer of this District.
"One hunner and thairty-fower other ranks, sirr," announced Sergeant M'Nab, consulting a much-thumbed roll-book. "We shall have to put them in twos and threes all down the street," said Cockerell. "Come on; the longer we look at it the less we shall like it. Interpreter!" The forlorn little man, already described, trotted up, and saluted with open hand, French fashion.
It was finished in 1847 by Cockerell, who added the unhappy north side to the University Library, but the original architect was Basevi, who was prevented from finishing the building he had begun by his untimely death through falling from one of the towers of Ely Cathedral.
"Show me the officier!" replied the prosaic Cockerell. The duet was resumed. "Madame say," announced Alphonso presently, "that the officier is not here now; but he will return." "So will Christmas! Meanwhile I am going to put an Emma Gee officer in here."
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