That was in France. In England the lack of firing (according to our pusillanimous critics) was positively repulsive.
OUR INNOCENT SUBALTERNS.
The leave-boat had come into port and there was the usual jam around the gangways. On the quay at the foot of one of them was a weary-looking officer performing the ungrateful task of detailing officers for tours of duty with the troops. He had squares of white cardboard in his hand, and here and there, as the officers trooped down the gangway, he picked out a young and inoffensive-looking subaltern and subpoenaed him.
I chanced to notice a young and rosy-cheeked second-lieutenant, innocent of the ways of this rude world, and I knew he was doomed.
As he passed out on to the wharf I saw him receive one of those white cards; he was also told to report to the corporal at the end of the quay.
I saw him slip behind a truck, where he left his bag and haversack, his gloves and his cane, and when he reappeared on the far side he had on his rain-coat, without stars. He had also altered the angle of his cap.