At a quarter to eight I stood with ten others in front of the M.O.'s door, on which a white card with the blue-lettered "No Smoking" stood out in bold relief. The morning was bitterly cold, and a sharp, penetrating wind splashed with rain swept round our ears, and chilled our hands and faces. One of the waiting queue had a sharp cough and spat blood; all this was due, he told us, to a day's divisional field exercise, when he had to lie for hours on the wet ground firing "blanks" at a "dummy" enemy. Another sick soldier, a youth of nineteen, straight as a lance and lithe as a poplar, suffered from ulcer in the throat. "I had the same thing before," he remarked in a thin, hoarse voice, "but I got over it somehow. This time it'll maybe the hospital. I don't know."
An orderly corporal filled in admission forms and handed them to us; each form containing the sick man's regimental number, name, religion, age, and length of military service, in addition to several other minor details having no reference at all to the matter in hand. These forms were again handed over to another orderly corporal, who stood smoking a cigarette under the blue-lettered notice pinned to the door.
The boy with the sore throat was sitting in a chair in the room when I entered, the doctor bending over him. "Would you like a holiday?" the M.O. asked in a kindly voice.
"A couple of days in hospital would leave you all right, my man," the M.O. continued, "and it would be a splendid rest."
"I don't want a rest," answered the youth. "Maybe I'll be better in the morning, sir."
"All right, report to-morrow again," he said. "You're a brave boy. Some, who are not the least ill, whine till one is sick--what's the matter with you?"
"Sore foot, sir," I said, seeing the M.O.'s eyes fixed on me.
I took off my boot, placed my foot on a chair, and had it inspected.
"I don't know, sir. It pains me when marching, and sometimes--"
"Have you ever heard that Napoleon said an army marches on its stomach?"
"Yes, sir, when the feet of the army is all right," I answered.
"Quite true," he replied. "No doubt you've sprained one of yours; just wash it well in warm water, rub it well, and have a day or two resting. That will leave you all right. Your boots are good?"