"They're getting deuced heavy about these jobs, aren't they?" observed
William a day or two later. "The Old Man wants to see us all at
orderly-room for a private interview--he's got to make a return
showing whether his officers have got jobs waiting for them, if not,
why not, and please indent at once to make good any deficiencies.
Hullo, what's this?"

It happened to be William's mail for the day--one large
official-looking envelope. It turned out to be a document from his old
unit (he had entered the Army from an O.T.C.), headed, "Resettlement
and Employment of ex-Officers: Preliminary Enquiry." It was a
formidable catechism, ranging from inquiries as to whether William had
a job ready for him to a request for a signed statement from his C.O.
certifying that he was a sober, diligent and obliging lad and had
generally given every satisfaction in his present situation. In case
he hadn't a job or wanted another one there were convenient spaces in
which to confess the whole of his past--whether he had a liking for
animals or the Colonies, mechanical aptitude (if any), down to full
list of birth-marks and next-of-kin. William thrust the thing hastily
into the stove. But I observed that there was a cloud over him for the
rest of the day.

However, we both of us satisfied the examiner at the orderly-room,
though the renewed evidence of a determined conspiracy to find work
for him left William a trifle more thoughtful than his wont. Shades
of the prison-house began to close about our growing joy, "These
'ere jobs," remarked William, "are going to take a bit of dodging,
dearie. Looks to me as though you might cop out for anything from
a tram-driver to Lord Chief. Wish people wouldn't be so infernally
obliging. And, anyway, what is this--an Army or a Labour Exchange?"