It is little enough can be done in action for the wounded; to cut away the blood-clotted clothing, to clap a rough dressing of iodine and gauze on the wound, or a crude splint on a smashed limb; to get the man to comparative cover, to rig some sort of a shade over him and to give him water; and then to wait—for the M.O. to come with the skill that soothes and the hypodermical needle of comfort. But the bitterest game of patience on earth is played when the tide of battle fails to flow onward, and the wounded lie all the livelong, sun-tormented day in the fire-swept zone, and the Medical Blokes can only watch and wait for nightfall to give safe-conduct to the ambulance carts or the camels, with great, unwieldy, white cacolets, which come to carry their poor shattered charges to sanctuary. [Illustration] Believe me, romantic reader, that I will now reveal the true _raison d’être_ of Medical Blokes; the nature of their life-work, their excuse for existing. It is not, bless you, ministering to the wounded under fire. It _is_ merely to bandage up septic sores and to distribute a variety of pills, most commonly known in the proportion of “two of these and one of those.” [Illustration] The daily life of the Medical Bloke hinges on “Sick Parade.” It is the Daily Event. The M.O. sits enthroned in the Medical Tent. Orderly corporals present their list of competitors. One by one they enter and face the Presence. Pulses, tongues, throats, eyes, temperatures are submitted to scrutiny. The questing stethoscope roams over bared bosoms and backs. Each man speaks his piece—the most sick say least and the least sick say most, as a general rule. “Give him two of these and one of those,” prescribes the M.O., and the victim, a handful of tablets clutched in his fist, retires. The rewards to be gained by braving “Sick Parade” run up a scale from “Medicine and Duty,” through “Light Duty” and “Exempt Duty,” to “Evacuate,” which last is the coveted prize. “Go and get your gear together and be ready to go to the Ambulance,” directs the Medical Bloke, and the patient sees at once visions of the cushy comfort of a Base Hospital, wherein he may hope to wallow shortly. He has netted a trip!