WINE. ACROSS THE FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED
FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Captain Gilbert Nobbs Frontispiece

Captain Nobbs after his release from the German
prison Facing page 164

ON THE RIGHT
OF THE BRITISH LINE

CHAPTER I

FOVANT

ORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT

"The C.O. wants to see you."

"What for?" I asked.

"I don't know, but he is in the orderly room."

It was the adjutant who was speaking, and his manner led me to think
there was something in the wind which he did not like to tell me. I
left the mess, and a few moments later I was standing before the C.O.

"I have just received a telegram from the War Office; you are included
in the next reinforcements for France."

"I am glad, sir."

"You've only forty-eight hours' notice. You are to report at
Southampton at 4. P.M. the day after to-morrow."

"Very good, sir."

"Well, as your time is so short, you had better go home and get things
ready. The adjutant will have your papers ready for you within half
an hour."

"Very good, sir."

The C.O. stood up, and in his cordial military manner, which seemed to
take you straight from the orderly room into the mess, held out his
hand to bid me good-bye.

There is quite a difference between a C.O. in the orderly room and a
C.O. in the mess. I mean those C.O.'s who are made of the right stuff,
and our C.O. was certainly one of them.

In the orderly room his presence keeps you at arm's length and makes
you feel that you want to keep clicking your heels and coming to the
salute. You are conscious of the terrible crime you would commit if
you permitted your body to relax from the position of attention; your
conversational powers are restricted; you fancy you have a voice at
the back of your head, saying:

"Don't argue, listen; digest, and get out."

It's a feeling which does not make the orderly room a very pleasant
place to go to; yet you have an instinctive feeling of confidence.

The same C.O. in the mess, however, is a different man and creates
quite a different atmosphere. In the orderly room he holds you from
him; in the mess he pulls you to him. You have the feeling that you
can sit in an armchair, with your feet on the coal-box, and talk to
him round the corner of your newspaper, like the very ordinary human
being he really is.

"Well, g