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being carried into the Field Hospitals, and up in
the Line the slaughter went on because no one knew
how to stop it. "Men are beginning to ask for what
they are fighting," Dottrell had written in his last
letter. Could I be blamed for being one of those at
home who were also asking that question? Must the
War go on in order that colonels might become briga-
diers and brigadiers get Divisions, while contractors
and manufacturers enriched themselves, and people
in high places ate and drank well and bandied official
information and organized entertainments for the
wounded? Some such questions I may have asked
myself, but I was unable to include Captain Huxtable
and Aunt Evelyn in the indictment.


I HAD TO wait until Thursday before a second
Clitherland telegram put me out of my misery,
Delivered early in the afternoon and containing only
two words, Report immediately, it was obviously a
telegram which did not need to be read twice. But
the new variety of suspense which it created was an
improvement on what I'd been enduring, because I
could end it for certain by reporting at Clitherland
within twenty-four hours. All considerations connected
with my protest were now knocked on,the head. It no
longer mattered whether I was right or whether I was
wrong, whether my action was public spirited or
whether it was preposterous. My mind was insensible
to everything but the abhorrent fact that I was in for
an appalling show, with zero hour fixed for to-
morrow when I arrived at the depot.
In the meantime I must pack my bag and catch the