You can't mistake him.

I'll write out a medical certificate for Jeremy and follow.

And say; wait a minute! What price the lot of you eating Mabel's chow tonight at our house?
We don't keep a cook, so you won't get poisoned.

That's settled; I'll tell Mabel you're coming.
Tootleloo!" But there was a chance that the brigadier might carry resentment to the point of sending up a provost-marshal's guard to arrest Jeremy on the well-known principle that a bird in the hand can be strafed more easily than one with a medical certificate.

The bush was the place for our bird until such time as the P.M.O.'s signature should adorn the necessary piece of paper; so we three rode up in a cab together to the Sikh hospital, and had a rare time trying to get in.
You see, there was a Sikh on guard outside, who respected nothing under heaven but his orders.