Colonel turned away and, somewhat laboriously, climbed his tree.
He was anxious, if possible, to make McMahon do a little work. It was
annoying to think that this young man, horribly addicted to slacking,
should be lying on his back in the shade. Yet he did not at once see his
way to any plan for making McMahon run about in the heat.

It was while he scanned the position of B Company through his field
glasses that an idea suddenly occurred to him. He climbed down rapidly
and found McMahon standing respectfully to attention at the foot of the
tree.

"You told me, I think," said the Colonel, "that this is the advanced
dressing station?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that you're prepared to deal with casualties?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall send some casualties down to you," said the Colonel.

"Yes, sir, certainly."

"I shall expect," said the Colonel, "that each man shall be properly
treated, exactly as if he were really wounded, bandaged up, you know,
ready for the ambulance to take him to the casualty clearing station.
And a proper record must be kept for each case. You must have a list
made out for me, properly classified, with a note of the treatment
adopted in each case and the nature of the injury, just as if you
were going to send it to the medical officer at the casualty clearing
station."

"Yes, sir."

"And it must be done properly," said the Colonel. "No shirking. No short
cuts. I don't see why you shouldn't practise your job like the rest of
us."

He turned away with a smile, a grim but well-satisfied smile. He intended
to keep McMahon busy, very busy indeed, for the rest of the day.

McMahon lay down again after the Colonel left him. But he did not
attempt to read his novel. He saw through the Colonel's plan. He
was determined to defeat it if he could. He was enjoying a peaceful
afternoon, and had no intention of exhausting himself bandaging up
men who had nothing the matter with them or compiling long lists of
imaginary injuries. After five minutes' thought he hit upon a scheme.
Ten minutes later the first casualty arrived.

"Sent to the rear by the Colonel, sir," said the man. "Orders are to
report to you. Shrapnel wound in the left thigh, sir."

"Left thigh?" said McMahon.

"It was the left the Colonel said, sir."

"All right," said McMahon. "Orderly!"

The orderly, who had found a comfortable couch among some bracken,
roused himself and stood to attention in front of McMahon.

"Take this man round