concealed. The orders were absolute. Everything must
be seen before being checked.
The soldier stoops obediently, removing his legging, and probably murmuring in his mind:
"I'm not trying to put anything over on you, and I'd wear them in the army whether it was my habit or not, because your issue shoes aren't exactly plush."
"Where's your other O. D. shirt?"
The officer catches himself.
"I mean, Shirt, O. D."
Again the soldier displays emotion.
"In the laundry, sir."
Once more the officer reflects. It seems expensive, unjustifiable, and meat in the mouth of Paper Work to issue this man, and all the other cleanly men, masses of equipment to be turned back on the arrival of their laundry. On that point there should be something definite. He seeks the captain for a ruling. The responsibility is great. So the captain seeks the battalion adjutant. The battalion adjutant seeks the regimental adjutant. The regimental adjutant seeks the Colonel, and beyond that the chain is vague, but in a few days a ruling comes down that for the present equipment in the laundry may be considered as present and accounted for.
The checking officer, meantime, makes out a painstaking little list for each soldier.
“Private Doe has in laundry—"
The list is long. Those who hear it decide that Doe is effete.
The conversation in the room, from tentative whispers following the officer's "Rest!", has developed into comments, exclamations, and arguments, centering about the flow of well-known raconteurs. The officer hears all this, grows at times a trifle absent-minded, has to make alterations in his neat lists.
