Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/244

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18
OUR VOLUNTARY ARMY.

Time―Early Spring. Weather―Wintry.

Ribald Spectator (to energetic Territorial busily flag-wagging). "Fannin' yerself, Capting?"

Quartermaster (examining candidates for the Territorial Medical Corps). "And, now, whereabouts is your spleen?"

Jones (at a venture). "In my kit-bag, Sir."

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