We have talked a good deal about
this idea and its delightful advantages. We have taken counsel,
subscribed to a common fund, and decided that this time we will take
the header into the additional outlay.
But will it be possible? Very many places are already snapped up. We
are not the only ones to bring our dream of comfort here, and it
will be a race for that table. Three companies are coming in after
ours, but four were here before us, and there are the officers, the
cooks of the hospital staff for the Section, and the clerks, the
drivers, the orderlies and others, official cooks of the sergeants'
mess, and I don't know how many more. All these men are more
influential than the soldiers of the line, they have more mobility
and more money, and can bring off their schemes beforehand. Already,
while we march four abreast towards the barn assigned to the squad,
we see some of these jokers across the conquered thresholds,
domestically busy.
Tirette imitates the sounds of lowing and bleating--"There's our
cattle-shed." A fairly big barn. The chopped straw smells of
night-soil, and our feet stir up clouds of dust. But it is almost
enclosed. We choose our places and cast off our equipment.
Those who dreamed yet once again of a special sort of Paradise sing
low--yet once again. "Look now, it seems as ugly as the other
places."--"It's something like the same."--"Naturally."
But there is no time to waste in talking.
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