Sick parade is not restricted by any dress order; the sore-footed may wear slippers; the sore-headed, Balaclava helmets; puttees can be discarded; mufflers and comforters may be used. "The sick rabble" is the name given by the men to the crowd that waits outside the door of the M.O.'s room at eight in the morning. And every morning brings its quota of ailing soldiers; some seriously ill, some slightly, and a few (as may be expected out of a thousand men of all sorts and conditions) who have imaginary or feigned diseases that will so often save "slackers" from a hard day's marching. The aim and ambition of these latter seem to be to do as little hard work as possible; some of them attend sick parade on an average once a week, and generally obtain exemption from a day's work. To obtain this they resort to several ruses; headaches and rheumatic pains are difficult to detect, and the doctor must depend on the private's word; a quick pulse and heightened temperature is engendered by a brisk run, and this is often a means towards a favourable medical verdict--that is, when "favourable" means a suspension of duties. At a quarter to eight I stood with ten others in front of the M.O.'s door, on which a white card with the blue-lettered "No Smoking" stood out in bold relief. The morning was bitterly cold, and a sharp, penetrating wind splashed with rain swept round our ears, and chilled our hands and faces. One of the waiting queue had a sharp cough and spat blood; all this was due, he told us, to a day's divisional field exercise, when he had to lie for hours on the wet ground firing "blanks" at a "dummy" enemy. Another sick soldier, a youth of nineteen, straight as a lance and lithe as a poplar, suffered from ulcer in the throat. "I had the same thing before," he remarked in a thin, hoarse voice, "but I got over it somehow. This time it'll maybe the hospital. I don't know." An orderly corporal filled in admission forms and handed them to us; each form containing the sick man's regimental number, name, religion, age, and length of military service, in addition to several other minor details having no reference at all to the matter in hand. These forms were again handed over to another orderly corporal, who stood smoking a cigarette under the blue-lettered notice pinned to the door. The boy with the sore throat was sitting in a chair in the room when I entered, the doctor bending over him. "Would you like a holiday?" the M.O. asked in a kindly voice. "Where to, sir?" "A couple of days in hospital would leave you all right, my man," the M.O. continued, "and it would be a splendid rest." "I don't want a rest," answered the youth. "Maybe I'll be better in the morning, sir." The doctor thought for a moment, then: "All right, report to-morrow again," he said. "You're a brave boy. Some, who are not the least ill, whine till one is sick--what's the matter with you?" "Sore foot, sir," I said, seeing the M.O.'s eyes fixed on me.