barbed-wire
enclosures were ready as collecting stations for prisoners; clusters of
hospital tents at other points seemed out of proportion to the trickle
of wounded from customary trench warfare.

All this preparation, stretching over weeks and months, unemotional and
methodical, infinite in detail, prodigious in effort, suggested the work
of engineers and contractors and subcontractors in the building of some
great bridge or canal, with the workmen all in the same kind of uniform
and with managers, superintendents and foremen each having some insignia
of rank and the Brass Hats and Red Tabs the inspectors and auditors.

The officer installing a new casualty clearing station, or emplacing a
gun, or starting another ammunition dump, had not heard of any
offensive. He was only doing what he was told. It was not his business
to ask why of any Red Tab, any more than it was the business of a Red
Tab to ask why of a Brass Hat, or his business to know that the same
sort of thing was going on over a front of sixteen miles. Each one saw
only his little section of the hive. Orders strictly limited workers to
their sections at the same time that their lips were sealed. Contractors
were in no danger of strikes; employees received no extra pay for
overtime. It was as evident that the offensive was to be on the Somme as
that the circus has come to town, when you see tents rising at dawn in a
vacant lot while the elephants are standing in line.

Toward the end of June I asked the Red Tab who sat at the head of our
table if I might go to London on leave. He was surprised, I think, but
did not appear surprised. It is one of the requisites of a Red Tab that
he should not. He said that he was uncertain if leave were being granted
at present. This was unusual, as an intimation of refusal had never been
made on any previous occasion. When I said that it would be for only two
or three days, he thought that it could be arranged all right. What this
considerate Red Tab meant was that I should return "in time." Yet he had
not mentioned that there was to be any offensive and I had not. We had
kept the faith of military secrecy. Besides, I really did not know,
unless I opened a pigeonhole in my brain. It was also my business not to
know--the only business I had with the "big push" except to look on.

Over in London my friends surprised me by exclaiming, "What are you
doing here?" and, "Won't you miss the offensive which is about to
begin?" N