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My "batman," who cleaned my boots and swept out the bunk, had his trousers held together with a huge safety-pin. The people called us "Kitchener's Rag-time Army." We became so torn, and worn, and ragged, that it was impossible to go out in the town. Being the only one in scout rig-out I drew much attention. "'Ere 'e comes, Moik-ell!" "Kitchener's cowboy! Isn't he lovely!" "Bejazus! so-it-is!"
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