OUR INNOCENT SUBALTERNS.

The leave-boat had come into port and there was the usual jam
around the gangways. On the quay at the foot of one of them was a
weary-looking officer performing the ungrateful task of detailing
officers for tours of duty with the troops. He had squares of white
cardboard in his hand, and here and there, as the officers trooped
down the gangway, he picked out a young and inoffensive-looking
subaltern and subpoenaed him.

I chanced to notice a young and rosy-cheeked second-lieutenant,
innocent of the ways of this rude world, and I knew he was doomed.

As he passed out on to the wharf I saw him receive one of those white
cards; he was also told to report to the corporal at the end of the
quay.

I saw him slip behind a truck, where he left his bag and haversack,
his gloves and his cane, and when he reappeared on the far side he had
on his rain-coat, without stars. He had also altered the angle of his
cap.

He waited near the foot of the other gangway, which was unguarded. I
drew nearer to see what he would do. Presently down the plank came
an oldish man--a lieutenant with a heavy moustache and two African
ribbons. My young friend stepped forward.

"You are detailed for duty," I heard him say. "You will report to the
N.C.O. at the end of the quay." His intonation was a model for the