Chapter 7 No.7

Sandwurse is a very wonderful place. It has produced some exalted men, but, like all institutions, it occasionally throws out a prig. This doesn't happen very often, but when it occurs the specimen is a real one. And it was the bad fortune of our hitherto happy platoon to be saddled with one of the species. Our dear old platoon officer, Lieutenant Blessem, was found fit for duty, and departed, amid the tears of our hut. We loved that man. He was so kind, so considerate, so interested; and he wasn't a sneak. Even Ginger admired him, and that was a compliment from our platoon high-brow.

Lieutenant Blase-Bones then blew in.

We saw him approach the hut from our window. What a gorgeous Nut-all brilliantine, brown polish, and brasso!

'Some lad!' muttered Ginger, scenting trouble.

'He looks as if he couldn't help it,' I remarked.

'Looks a ruddy ass,' mumbled Beefy.

Then the door banged, and the sergeant-major shouted, 'Stand to your beds!'

We sprang to attention, and Blase-Bones entered as if he were the conqueror of Bagdad, Berlin, and Timbuctoo. He had a monocle-of course.

'This hut looks like a beah-garden. Open that windah theah,' he said, looking at me.

I obeyed. Twelve months in the ranks had taught me a lot.

'Whose bed is this?' he said, on arriving at Ginger's doss-house.

I must own it looked the bally limit. But even the old commandant had never checked it. The C.O.'s view was that we were there to train and be educated, not wearied with pipeclay and eye-wash.

'It's mine, sir,' answered Ginger.

'Clean it up. Look smart!'

With a groan, Ginger leisurely commenced to bundle H. G. Wells, Conrad, Haking, Browning, and Zola into a long-suffering box.

'Are these your boots?' he asked Tosher.

'Guess they are,' said the Canadian casually.

'"Sir," when you speak to an officer.'

Tosher grinned. Fortunately this levity went unnoticed. And then Blase-Bones arrived at Billy Greens's doss. Billy, as you know, was a parson, highly strung, very nervous, and afraid of all military mandarins. We, who knew him, loved him; for Billy was the biggest-hearted man ever made. We shielded him from a good deal of trouble, and we were shocked when the new platoon officer, realising Billy's nervousness, pounced on him. Here was a chance to show off and impress the hut that the new platoon commander was a mighty smart fellow!

'Is this your bed?' he asked.

'Y-e-s, sir,' said Billy, his hands twitching.

'Most untidy! What an example! How can you expect to be an officer?'

'I've never been checked be-fore, sir.'

'Hold your tongue! Tidy it up.-And, I say, sergeant-major.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Inspect this hut in an hour's time, and report to me.'

'Very good, sir.'

Off he went, swinging his cane in a brainless manner, and leaving behind him a well of hate and scorn. This man had in ten minutes smashed our happy home, and given us a prospect of h-- for the next two months.

'Old Army!' said Ginger ironically, as the door banged.

'No, Ginger; he's the fag-end of the system, but he isn't a patch on the other good fellows,' I answered.

'He's a prize prig, anyway. He's out for trouble; but I fancy we can do him in.'

'Sure thing,' grunted Tosher.

'He's only a boy-a foolish boy,' commented Billy, who was indeed a most tolerant man.

'I'll tell you what he is,' remarked Beefy. 'He's a ruddy inefficient swine, chucked out of some crack battalion.'

And that was about right!