Non, I'd never have believed there'd be so many men on
chairs while war was going on--"
A hand protruded from the rank and made trial of space--"No more
sauce falling"--"Then we're going out, bet your life on it." So
"March!" was the cry.
The storm held its peace. We filed off in the long narrow swamp
stagnating in the bottom of the trench where the moment before it
had shaken under slabs of rain. Volpatte's grumbling began again
amidst our sorry stroll and the eddies of floundering feet. I
listened to him as I watched the shoulders of a poverty-stricken
overcoat swaying in front of me, drenched through and through. This
time Volpatte was on the track of the police--
"The farther you go from the front the more you see of them."
"Their battlefield is not the same as ours."
Tulacque had an ancient grudge against them. "Look," he said, "how
the bobbies spread themselves about to get good lodgings and good
food, and then, after the drinking regulations, they dropped on the
secret wine-sellers. You saw them lying in wait, with a corner of an
eye on the shop-doors, to see if there weren't any poilus slipping
quietly out, two-faced that they are, leering to left and to right
and licking their mustaches."
"There are good ones among 'em. I knew one in my country, the
Cote d'Or, where I--"
"Shut up!" was Tulacque's peremptory interruption; "they're all
alike. There isn't one that can put another right."
"Yes, they're lucky," said Volpatte, "but do you think they're
contented? Not a bit; they grouse.
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