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until the weather improved. It wasn't difficult to feel
like following his advice; but soon afterwards I went
into Liverpool for what I knew to be my final Medical
Board. It was a dark freezing day, and all the officers
in the waiting-room looked as if they wanted to feel
their worst for the occasion. A sallow youth confided
in me that he'd been out on the razzle the night be-
fore and was hoping to get away with another four
weeks' home-service.

There were two silver-haired Army doctors sitting
at a table, poring over blue arid white documents.
One, with a waxed moustache, eyed me wearily when
I came into the office. With a jerk of the head he in-
dicated a chair by the table. "Feel fit to go out
again?" "Yes; quite well, thank you." His pen began
to move across the blue paper. "Has been passed fit

for General Ser-----" He looked up irritably. "Don't

shake the table!" (I was tapping it with my fingers.)
The other Colonel gazed mildly at me over his pince-
nez. Waxed moustache grunted and went on writing.
Shaking the table wouldn't stop that pen of his!