Eager to Please.

A young subaltern joined a guards depot, his upper lip as yet unadorned with even the suspicion of down. The adjutant sent for him.

“You must grow a moustache.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And not one of those Chaplin affairs—a proper moustache.”

“Yes, sir.”

The interview was finished, but the subaltern did not move, so the adjutant asked:

“Well, what more do you want?”

“Any particular colour, sir?”

* * *