I
want"--with great emphasis--"vinblank one, vinrooge two, bogeys six,
Dom one. Compree?"
By some miracle the smiling lady does "compree," and produces white
wine, red wine, candles, and--a bottle of Benedictine! (Sergeant
Goffin always names wines after the most boldly printed word upon
the label. He once handed round some champagne, which he insisted on
calling "a bottle of brute.")
"Combine?" is the next observation.
The _epiciere_ utters the series of short sharp sibilants of which
all French numerals appear to be composed. It sounds like
"song-song-song." The resourceful Goffin lays down a twenty-franc
note.
"Take it out of that," he says grandly.
He receives his change, and counts it with a great air of wisdom. The
_epiciere_ breaks into a rapid recital--it sounds rather like our
curate at home getting to work on _When the wicked man_--of the beauty
and succulence of her other wares. Up goes Goffin's hand again.
"Na pooh!" he exclaims.. "Bong jooer!" And he stumps out to the
mess-cart.
"Na pooh!" is a mysterious but invaluable expression. Possibly it is
derived from "Il n'y a plus." It means, "All over!" You say "Na pooh!"
when you push your plate away after dinner. It also means, "Not
likely!" or "Nothing doing!" By a further development it has come to
mean "done for," "finished," and in extreme cases, "dead." "Poor Bill
got na-poohed by a rifle-grenade yesterday," says one mourner to
another.
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