space restrained them, I presume, from adding "LAWN TENNIS, SHOOTING,
AND ALL THE DELIGHTS OF FASHIONABLE LIFE CAN BE RESUMED IMMEDIATELY ON
THE FIRING OF THE LAST SHOT." Now what does this mean to the wage
worker? Simply that the moment he is no longer wanted in the trenches he
will be flung back into the labour market to sink or swim without an
hour's respite. If we had had a Labour representative or two to help in
drawing up these silly placards--I am almost tempted to say if we had
had any human being of any class with half the brains of a rabbit
there--the placards would have contained a solemn promise that no single
man should be discharged at the conclusion of the war, save at his own
request, until a job had been found for him in civil life. I ask the
heavens, with a shudder, do these class-blinded people in authority
really intend to take a million men out of their employment; turn them
into soldiers; and then at one blow hurl them back, utterly unprovided
for, into the streets?

But a War Office capable of placarding Lord Roberts's declaration that
the men who are enlisting are doing "what all able-bodied men in the
kingdom should do" is clearly ignorant enough for anything. I do not
blame Lord Roberts for his oratorical flourish: we have all said things
just as absurd on the platform in moments of enthusiasm. But the
officials who reproduced it in cold blood would have us believe that
soldiers live on air; that ammunition drops from heaven like manna; and
that an army could hold the field for twenty-four hours without the
support of a still more numerous body of civilians working hard to
support it. Sane men gasp at such placards and ask angrily, "What sort
of fools do you take us for?" I have in my hand a copy of _The Torquay
Times_ containing a hospitable invitation to soldiers' wives to call at
the War Office, Whitehall, S.W., if they desire "assistance and
explanation of their case." The return fare from Torquay to London is