"It's not my place, sir, to teach you the regulations, but if you refer to page 347, paragraph 6, you will find that no demands can be complied with unless they have been through the commanding officer of the troops, the senior surgeon, the principal medical officer, the senior commissariat officer, the brigadier, and the general of division. Bring me a requisition duly completed, and you shall have the stoves."
"But it is monstrous: preposterous! There is not time. It would take a week to get these signatures, and I tell you my men are dying."
"I can't help that; you must proceed according to rule."
"It's little short of murder!" said the doctor, now furious.
"And what can I do for you?" said Mr. Dawber, ignoring this remark, and turning to another applicant, a quartermaster of the Guards.
"I have come for six bags of coffee."
"Where is your requisition?"
The quartermaster produced a large sheet of foolscap, covered with printing and ruled lines, a mass of figures, and intricate calculations.
Mr. Dawber seized it, and proceeded to verify the totals, which took him half-an-hour.
"This column is incorrectly cast; in fact, the form is very carelessly filled in. But you shall have the coffee—if we can find it."