Came home grumpy and went to bed early.
Nov. 13.--Another riding-lesson. Over-heard him asking one of the
maids whether there was such a thing as a water-bed in the house.
Nov. 17.--Complained bitterly of horse-copers. Said that his poor mount
was discovered to be suffering from saddle-soreness, broken wind,
splints, weak hocks, and two bones of the neck out of place.
Dec. 9.--7 p.m.--One of last year's billets, Private Merited, on leave
from a gunnery course, called to see me and to find out whether his old
bed had improved since last year. Left his motor-bike in the garage, and
the smell in front of the dining-room window.
8 to 12 p.m.--Sat with Private Merited, listening to Lieut. True Born on
the mistakes of Wellington.
12.5 a.m.--Rose to go to bed. Was about to turn out gas in hall when I
discovered the lieutenant standing with his face to the wall playing pat-
a-cake with it. Gave him three-parts of a tumbler of brandy. Said he
felt better and went upstairs. Arrived in his bed-room, he looked about
him carefully, and then, with a superb sweep of his left arm, swept the
best Chippendale looking-glass in the family off the dressing table and
dived face down-wards to the floor, missing death and the corner of the
chest of drawers by an inch.
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