like doing a little impertinence in a world that's foundering. . . ."
The world was foundering.
"I'd go out," he said, "but I don't want to have to put that filthy little Pitkins under arrest. He only drinks because he's shellshocked. He's not man enough else, the unclean little Nonconformist. . . ."
McKechnie said:
"Hold on! . . . I'm a Presbyterian myself. . . ."
Tietjens answered:
"You would be! . . ." He said: "I beg your pardon. . . . There will be no more parades. . . . The British Army is dishonoured for ever. . . ."
McKechnie said:
"That's all right, old bean. . . ."
Tietjens exclaimed with sudden violence:
"What the hell are you doing in the officers' lines? . . . Don't you know it's a court-martial offence?"
He was confronted with the broad, mealy face of his regimental quartermaster-sergeant, the sort of fellow who wore an officer's cap against the regulations, with a Tommie's silver-plated badge. A man determined to get Sergeant-Major Cowley's job. The man had come in unheard under the roll of voices outside. He said:
"Excuse me, sir, I took the liberty of knocking. . . . The sergeant-major is in an epileptic fit. . . . I wanted your directions before putting the draft into the tents with the other men. . . ." Having said that tentatively he hazarded cautiously: "The sergeant-major throws these fits, sir, if he is suddenly woke up. . . . And Second-Lieutenant Pitkins woke him very suddenly. . . ."
Tietjens said:
