I look all right, and I feel all right, but the doctor said the Army was
no place for me. Having given me a piece of paper which said so, he
looked over my head and called out, "Next, please." It was with this
document I was going to produce a delicious thrill--what I might call an
"electric" moment. I carefully rehearsed what should happen, though I
was not quite sure what attitude to adopt--whether to give the
impression that I was a member of a pacific society, look elaborately
unconcerned or truculently youthful. This, I decided, had better be left
to the psychological moment.
I would take my seat or strap in the crowded tram or train. Observing
that I wore neither khaki nor armlet someone would want to know why "a
big, strong, healthy-looking fellow like you was not in the Army." I
should then try to look pacific or elaborately--see above again. But I
should say nothing. My studied silence would annoy everybody. I was
quite sure of this, because I really can do that sort of silence very
well. The inevitable old woman with a bundle would fix me with her
watery eye. "The man in the street," who, of course, would now be in the
tram or train, would give a brief history of his three sons and one
brother-in-law at the Front. The armleted conductor (we are now in the
tram) would give my ticket a very rude punch and my penny a very angry
stare. When I was quite sure I had been set down as a slacker, I should
produce the doctor's certificate of exemption. In my ultra-polite
manner, which is nearly as good as my annoying silence, I should hand it
to the man whose three sons and one brother-in-law had evidently been
writing for more cigarettes. I would then say, "I know you can talk. It
is possible you can read. Would you be good enough to read aloud this
certificate?" It would be read and then handed back to me. I would fold
it carefully and place it in my inside pocket. Looking very tenderly at
the long row of rebuked countenances, I should get up and make for the
door. This would be the delicious thrill, the electric moment. The
following is what _did_ happen.
I was on the Tube. Conditions were favourable, as Sir OLIVER LODGE would
say to Mrs. PIPER. The old woman with the bundle was not there, but the
shop-girl with three regimental brooches was. Everything was going as
well as I could have wished. The shop-girl closed her novel and fingered
her brooches. A fat old gentleman sniffed vigorously, and someone asked
why "a big, strong, healthy, etc., etc." Nobody seemed to be impressed
by my splendid silence, but it was there all the same, and somebody was
going to be very sorry before he got home. I touched my tie and lit a
fresh cigarette. The air was tense. I could almost see my electric
moment walking down the compartment to meet me. We were nearing a
station. I felt in my pocket.