GETTING OUT.
"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.
A.A.M.