progress was sharply arrested. He held out his mug and plate helplessly,
but no one moved to assist him.

"Take these bloody things orf me, can't yer!" he shouted with furious
resentment. Someone jumped up and took the mug and plate, while the
newcomer freed himself from the hook.

It was five-and-twenty past five when the last of us came in with his
breakfast. But before he could reach his place there was a loud blast of
a whistle, and a distant voice shouted, "On Parade!"

The irritation that had been accumulating since reveillé burst out.

"Why can't they let yer finish yer breakfast--'tain't 'alf-past yet, not
be a long way!"

"They treat yer like pigs!"

"We're a bloody lot o' fools ter stand it--that's the worst o' this mob
though, yer'll never get 'em ter stick together an' do anythink."

"I bet the C.O.'s enjoyin' 'isself...." A stream of filthy language
followed--abuse of the Commanding Officer, abuse of the army, abuse of
the war, and abuse of the Government. The man could find no other way of
expressing himself with adequate force and crudity. At times he became
incoherent.

He was not grumbling at the little hardships and discomforts of this
particular morning. He was grumbling at an entire life of discomfort. He
was rebelling against his degrading slavery and enforced misery, and it