them pleaded guilty in court and made queer statements about an utter ignorance of their own actions after the disorder had begun. It seemed as though they had returned to the psychology of that war when men, doped with rum, or drunk with excitement, had leapt over the parapet and remembered nothing more of a battle until they found themselves panting in an enemy trench, or lying wounded on a stretcher. It was a dangerous kind of psychology in civil life. Labourers back at work in factories or mines or railway-stations or dock-yards, after months or years of the soldier-life, did not return to their old conditions or their old pay with diligence and thankfulness. They demanded higher wages to meet the higher cost of life, and after that a margin for pleasure, and after that shorter hours for higher pay, and less work in shorter hours. If their demands were not granted they downed tools and said, “What about it?” Strikes became frequent and general, and at a time when the cost of war was being added up to frightful totals of debt which could only be reduced by immense production, the worker slacked off, or suspended his labours, and said, “Who gets the profits of my sweat?... I want a larger share.” He was not frightened of a spectre that was scaring all people of property and morality in the Western world. The spectre of Bolshevism, red-eyed, dripping with blood, proclaiming anarchy as the new gospel, did not cause a shiver to the English working-man. He said, “What has Russia to do with me? I’m English. I have fought this war to save England, I have done the job; now then, where’s my reward?” Men who looked round for a living while they lived on an unemployment dole that was not good enough for their new desires, became sullen when they returned home night after night with the same old story of “Nothing doing.” The women were still clinging to their jobs. They had earned their independence by good work in war-time. They hated the thought of going back to little homes to be household drudges, dependent for pocket-money on father and brothers. They had not only tasted liberty. They had made themselves free of the large world. They had proved their quality and strength. They were as good as men, and mostly better. Why should they slink back to the little narrow rut of life? But the men said, “Get out. Give us back our jobs.” It was hard on the officer boys--hardest of all on them. They had gone straight from school to the war, and had commanded men twice as old as themselves, and drawn good pay for pocket-money as first lieutenants, captains, even majors of air-squadrons and tank battalions. They had gained immense experience in the arts and crafts of war, and that experience was utterly useless in peace.