p, but CHEW their way in from the
outside.

The weary old monotony of daily routine common to the Army set in,
parades and inspections forced their unpleasant encroachments upon each
day. Men whom a few weeks before had been forced to face the heaviest
fighting they had ever experienced, now made the abrupt discovery that
they were again liable to fall foul of the miles of red-tapeism that is
everywhere rampant in Regulations respecting innumerable minor offences.

This perpetual inspection by an officer sickens. His minute survey of
every inch of the uncouth, Army-rigged mortals, peppered with
injunctions in relation to an absence of polish on boots or equipment,
was never favorably received. There was a grain of humour in the actions
of subalterns who were wont to jab up and down the bolt of a rifle with
the air of an expert and solemnly inform the owner (who had fired
several hundred rounds through it at tight moments) that he must "... be
careful to oil the bolt--most important."

Much new clothing had to be issued to replace the battle-scared remnants
of the Cambrai stunt. Thrown to the men in the happy haphazard Army
method--there were created a new series of Parisian modes for draping
the figure. Army-rig! There was no lack of space or originality in the
cut of Le Huray's enormous wide trousers (the leg would comfortably have
encircled his waist), turned up when worn without puttees two and
one-half inches at the bottom; the top if hitched well up had manifest
advantages as a muffler. Issued on the same logical lines, Mahy received
a tiny pair of nether garments for his loner legs and a little tunic
that hung limply like an undersized Eton-jacket six inches short of
where it should have reached. Some lads were lost in shirts with sleeves
generally associated with Chinese or other Eastern gentlemen, others
moodily surveyed themselves in small shrunken garments that with only
superhuman effort could be forced to meet the waistband without emiting
a warning rip. Duport found it so.

"Look 'ere," he growled, "trousers won't reach me waist upwards; shirt
won't either, downwards. Leavin' a bloomin' two inches orl round of bare
flesh."

"Camouflage it."

"'Ow d'you mean?"

"Paint the space brown an' pretend it's a belt."

The Quarter-Master Sergeant and his assistant found an avalanche of new
material and old on their hands. (The Q.M.S.'s are those individuals who
keep ALL the new clothing in store and by only