CHAPTER VII.
PSYCHOLOGY.
‘What’s the stunt to-day?’ inquired Ginger one wet morning.
‘Lecture,’ I answered.
‘What on?’
‘Psychology.’
‘A precious lot of psychology we’ll get in this school. They know as much about it as they do about Mars. I’m fed up with these army lecturers. They make me sick. They’re parrots, and all cribbing from one another.’
‘But this is a new man.’
‘Oh, well, we’ll give him a hearing,’ said Ginger, picking up his notebook and sauntering over to the lecture-room.
What Ginger said was partly true, for many of the lecturers bored us stiff. A few of them were dug-outs who got their theories of modern war from the daily papers. Others were well-meaning men, but often they lacked originality. Army training had repressed their individuality, and they were apparently afraid to break conventions. When a good man did come along the dead-heads seemed to get jealous, and the brilliant rebel quietly disappeared. The army will not be an army proper till jealousy is made bad form.