The Colonel inspected the front rank, and took a long time, fussing over various details. A man with cold fingers dropped his rifle. “Ser’ant ’Icks, take that man’s name and number, and forward the charge with his Crime Sheet!” “Very good, Sir.” The front rank stood at ease while the Colonel inspected the rear rank less minutely. It was beginning to get dark, and he had to make a speech. He stood about thirty yards in front of the draft with the other officers behind him. The youthful Adjutant held his riding crop against his right thigh like a field-marshal’s baton. The Colonel, an eccentric but harmless half-wit who had been returned with thanks from France early in his first campaign, was speaking: “N.C.O.’s and Men of the 8th Upshires! Er—you are—er—proceeding overseas on Active Service. Er. Er. I—er—trust you will do your—er—duty. We have wasted—er—spared no pains to make you efficient. Remember to keep yourselves smart and clean and—er—walk about in a soldierly way. You must always—er—maintain the honour of the Regiment which—er—er—which stands high in the records of the British Army. I—...” A very faint murmur of “muckin’ old fool,” “silly old mucker,” “struth!” came from the draft, too faint to reach the officer’s ears, but the alert R.S.M. caught it, though without distinguishing the words; and cut short the Colonel’s peroration with his stentorian: “Stand still there! Stand _Steady!_ Take their names, Ser’ant ’Icks!” A short pause, and the R.S.M. shouted: “P’rade again at four-fifteen outside the Armoury, in clean fatigue, to hand in rifles. Mind they’re properly clean and pulled-through. An’ no talking as you walk off p’rade.” The Adjutant had been talking to the Colonel, and saluted as his superior departed. He walked over to the R.S.M. “All right, Sergeant-Major, you and the other N.C.O.’s not in the draft may fall out. I’ll dismiss the men.” “Very good, Sir.” The Adjutant walked over to the draft, and stood with his right hand on his hip. He spoke slowly but without hesitation: “Stand at ease. Stand easy. You can wash out what the R.S.M. just said. Leave your rifles in the racks, but try to leave ’em clean or I shall get strafed.... I’m afraid we’ve chased you about a bit under the new intensive scheme of training, but it’s all in the day’s work, you know. I’m sorry we’re not going out as a unit, but battalions are being broken up everywhere for drafts. When you get out, don’t forget to look after your feet—you get court-martialled for trench feet nowadays—and don’t be in a hurry to shove your heads over the top! I’m due to follow you myself soon, so I expect we’ll all be in the next push. Good-bye. And the very best of luck to you all.” “Good-bye, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Same to you, Sir. Good-bye, Sir.” “Good-bye. Draft, ’shun. Slope arms. Dis-miss.” Simultaneously their hands tapped the rifle-butts in salute, as they turned right.