in a fortnight at this rate, and then the only
thing to do would be to wire for the Fleet, and be taken safely home to
their mammas!

The march went on through the stifling heat of the afternoon, and the
Subaltern knew that he, and most of the men as well, were feeling about
as bad as it is possible to feel without fainting. They marched through
a very dense wood, and then out once more into the open. Even the
longest day has its ending, and at last they found themselves halted in
the usual lines of companies in the usual stubble field. A Taube flew
overhead and all sorts of fire were concentrated on it.

It was already sunset. After the edge, as it were, had been taken off
his exhaustion, the Subaltern extracted the before-mentioned piece of
soap, and having, as usual, scraped it ready for action, washed his feet
in a little stream. He did it under the impression that marching for
that day was over. It is very comfortable to wash your hot, tired feet
in a cool stream provided there is no necessity to put your boots on
again. If something happens that forces you to do this, you are in for a
hard and painful job. You would not believe it possible for feet to
swell like yours have swelled. They do not seem like your own feet at
all. They have expanded past recognition, and their tenderness surpasses
thought.

The Subaltern was sitting by the stream edge gazing at the flush of
golden light in the west, when he was awakened by the Major.

"Well, young feller, I've been looking everywhere for you. You've got to
take your Platoon out to this village, Villiers, and occupy it till
further orders--a sort of outpost position--you will be too far from the
main body to establish touch; you have really just to block the roads,
and if you are rushed, retire here the best way you can."

Having made sure of the position on the map, and asked for a couple of
cyclists to accompany him, the Subaltern began to put on his boots. But
they would not go on. It was like trying to get a baby's boots on to a
giant's feet, and the more he tugged the more it hurt. The precious
moments of daylight would soon be gone, and in the dark it would be ten
times more difficult to find the village and block the roads. There was
nothing for it but to cut the boots, so, unwrapping a fresh Gillette
blade, he made a large V-shaped gash in the top part of each. It was
annoying to have to spoil good boots, and in addition his feet would get
wet far sooner tha