Randle Janvers Binderbeck stepped forward.
"What's your job, Binderbeck?" said the C.S.M.
(To ask Lord NORTHCLIFFE, "Do you sell newspapers?" To ask BOSWELL,
"Have you heard of a man named JOHNSON?" TO ask HENRY VIII, "Were you
ever married?")
The futility of the question flabbergasted Randle.
"Come on, man," said the C.S.M.
Randle made an effort. "Journalist," he said.
"'Journalist,'" said the C.S.M., "'Journalist.' Yes, I thought so.
'Group 41.' You've got a long way to go, my lad. You'd have done
better if you was a bird-scarer, like Hodge. Them's the boys the
nation wants--Group 1 boys. You sticks in the Army for another six
months' fatigue. Next man."
That was all.
John Hodge is now soberly awaiting demobilisation, and will not have
to wait long.
Randle Janvers Binderbeck is secretly consoling himself by writing the
most denunciatory articles. They will never be published, but they
afford an alternative to cocaine.
He feels that he can never again consent to sway public opinion as the
west wind, etc., in the interests of a nation which rates him forty
groups lower than an animated scarecrow.
It is the nation's own fault, Randle is blameless.
* * * * *