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Updated: October 22, 2025
Most barrack rumours die a natural death, but this one was confirmed by the fact that next morning the whole battalion, instead of performing the usual platoon exercises, was told off for instruction in the art of presenting arms. "A" Company discussed the portent at breakfast. "What kin' o' a thing is a Review?" inquired Private M'Slattery. Private Mucklewame explained.
Yet Private M'Slattery was quite unaware that he had spoken. At last the little procession arrived. There was a handshake for the Colonel, and a word with two or three of the officers; then a quick scrutiny of the rank and file. For a moment yea, more than a moment keen Royal eyes rested upon Private M'Slattery, standing like a graven image, with his great chest straining the buttons of his tunic.
Then a voice said, apparently in M'Slattery's ear "A magnificent body of men, Colonel. I congratulate you." A minute later M'Slattery was aroused from his trance by the sound of the Colonel's ringing voice "Highlanders, three cheers for His Majesty the King!" M'Slattery led the whole Battalion, his glengarry high in the air.
However, at the appointed hour M'Slattery, in the front rank of A Company, stood to attention because he had to, and presented arms very creditably. He now cherished a fresh grievance, for he objected upon principle to have to present arms to a motor-car standing two hundred yards away upon his right front. "Wull we be gettin' hame to our dinners now?" he inquired gruffly of his neighbour.
"No talking in the ranks there!" he said. "Sergeant, take that man's name." Private M'Slattery, rumbling mutiny, subsided, and devoted his attention to the movements of the Royal motor-car. Then the miracle happened. The great car rolled smoothly from the saluting-base, over the undulating turf, and came to a standstill on the extreme right of the line, half a mile away.
There descended a slight figure in khaki. It was the King the King whom Private M'Slattery had never seen. Another figure followed, and another. "Herself iss there too!" whinnied an excited Highlander on M'Slattery's right. "And the young leddy! Pless me, they are all for walking town the line on their feet. And the sun so hot in the sky! We shall see them close!"
There are sad gaps among our old friends of the rank and file. Ogg and Hogg, M'Slattery and M'Ostrich, have gone to the happy hunting-grounds. But his comrades are positive that no harm has befallen him. Long experience has convinced them that in the art of landing on his feet their departed friend has no equal.
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