At the end of an hour he calculated that he was within two or three
hundred of the door. He had only lately come out of hospital and was
beginning to feel rather weak.

"I shall have to give it up," he said.

The Captain tried to encourage him with tales of gallantry. There was
a Lieutenant in the Manchesters who had worked his way up on three
occasions to within fifty of the door, at which point he had collapsed
each time from exhaustion; whereupon two kindly policemen had carried
him to the end of the queue again for air.... He was still sticking to
it.

"I suppose there's no chance of being carried to the _front_ of the
queue?" said William hopefully.

"No," said the Captain firmly; "we should see to that."

"Then I shall have to go," said William. "See you to-morrow." And as
he left his place the queue behind him surged forward an inch and took
new courage.

A week later William suddenly remembered Jones. Jones had been in the
War Office a long time. It was said of him that you could take him to
any room in the building and he could find his way out into Whitehall
in less than twenty minutes. But then he was no mere "temporary
civil-servant." He had been the author of that famous W.O. letter
referring to Chevrons for Cold Shoers which was responsible for
the capture of Badajoz; he had issued the celebrated Army Council
Instruction, "Commanding Officers are requested to replace the