"If you belong to any of the following classes," said the
Demobilisation advertisement, "do nothing." So Lieut. William Smith
did nothing.
After doing nothing for some weeks he met a friend who said, "Hallo,
aren't you out yet?"
"Not yet," said William, looking at his spurs.
"Well, you ought to _do_ something."
So Lieut. William Smith decided to do something. He was a
pivotal-man and a slip-man and a one-man-business and a
twenty-eight-days-in-hospital man and a W.O. letter ZXY/999 man.
Accordingly he wrote to the War Office and told them so.
It was, of course, a little confusing for the authorities. Just as
they began to see their way to getting him out as a pivotal man,
somebody would decide that it was quicker to demobilise him as a
one-man-business; and when this was nearly done, then somebody else
would point out that it was really much neater to reinstate him as a
slip-man. Whereupon a sub-section, just getting to work at W.O. letter
ZXY/999, would beg to be allowed a little practice on William while he
was still available, to the great disgust of the medical authorities,
who had been hoping to study the symptoms of self-demobilisation in
Lieut. Smith as evidenced after twenty-eight days' in hospital.
Naturally, then, when another friend met William a month later and
said, "Hallo, aren't you out yet?" William could only look at his
spurs again and say, "Not yet."
"Better go to the War Office and have a talk with somebody," said his
friend. "Much the quickest."
So William went to the War Office. First he had a talk with a
policeman, and then he had a talk with a porter, and then he had a
talk with an attendant, and then he had a talk with a messenger girl,
and so finally he came to the end of a long queue of officers who were
waiting to have a talk with _somebody_.
"Not so many here to-day as yesterday," said a friendly Captain in the
Suffolks who was next to him.
"Oh!" said William. "And we've got an army on the Rhine too," he
murmured to himself, realising for the first time the extent of
England's effort.
At the end of an hour he calculated that he was within two or three
hundred of the door. He had only lately come out of hospital and was
beginning to feel rather weak.
"I shall have to give it up," he said.
The Captain tried to encourage him with tales of gallantry. There was
a Lieutenant in the Manchesters who had worked his way up on three
occasions to within fifty of the door, at which point he had collapsed
each time from exhaustion; whereupon two kindly policemen had carried
him to the end of the queue again for air.... He was still sticking to
it.
"I suppose there's no chance of being carried to the _front_ of the
queue?" said William hopefully.
"No," said the Captain firmly; "we should see to that."
"Then I shall have to go," said William. "See you to-morrow." And as
he left his place the queue behind him surged forward an inch and took
new courage.
A week later William suddenly remembered Jones. Jones had been in the
War Office a long time. It was said of him that you could take him to
any room in the building and he could find his way out into Whitehall
in less than twenty minutes. But then he was no mere "temporary
civil-servant." He had been the author of that famous W.O. letter
referring to Chevrons for Cold Shoers which was responsible for
the capture of Badajoz; he had issued the celebrated Army Council
Instruction, "Commanding Officers are requested to replace the
pivots," which had demobilised MARLBOROUGH's army so speedily; and,
as is well known, HENRY V. had often said that without Jones--well,
anyhow, he had been in the War Office a long time. And William knew
him slightly.
So William sent up his card.
"I want to talk to somebody," he explained to Jones. "I can't manage
more than of couple of hours a day in the queue just now, because
I'm not very fit. If I could sit down somewhere and tell somebody all
about myself, that's what I want. Any room in the building where there
are no queues outside and two chairs inside. I'd be very much obliged
to you."
"I'll give you a note to Briggs," said Jones promptly. "He's the
fellow to get you out."
"Thanks _awfully_," said the overjoyed William.
A messenger girl took him and the note to Captain Briggs. Briggs
listened to the story of William's qualifications--or rather
disqualifications--and considered for a moment.
"Yes, we ought to get you out very quickly," he said.
"Good," said William. "Thanks _awfully_."
"Walters will tell you just what to do. He's a pal of mine. I'll give
you a note to him."
So in another minute the overjoyed William was following a messenger
girl to the room of Lieutenant Walters.
Walters was very cheerful. The thing to do, he said, was to go to
Sanders. Sanders would get him out in half-an-hour. He'd give William
a note, and then Sanders would do his best. The overjoyed William
followed the messenger girl to Sanders.
"That's all right," said Sanders a few minutes later. "We can get you
out at once on this. Do you know Briggs?"
"Briggs," said William, with a sudden sinking feeling.
"I'll give you a note to him. He knows all about it. He'll get you out
at once."
"Thank you," said William faintly.
He put the note in his pocket and strode briskly out in search of the
dear old queue.
"It will be quicker after all," he told himself, as he took his place
at the end of the queue next to a Lieutenant in the Manchesters.
("Don't crowd him," said a policeman to William; "he wants air.")
* * * * *
And you think perhaps that the story ends here, with William in the
queue again? Oh, no. William is a man of resource. The very next day
he met another friend, who said, "Hallo, aren't you out yet?"
"Not yet," said William.
"My boy got out a month ago."
"H-h-h-how?" said William.
"Ah well, you see, he's going up to Cambridge. Complete his education
and all the rest of it. They let 'em out at once on that."
"Ah!" said William thoughtfully.
William is thirty-eight, but he has taken the great decision. He is
going up to Cambridge next term. He thinks it will be quicker. He no
longer stands in the queue for two hours every day; he spends the time
instead studying for his Little Go.