soldier, whereas at his own job he stands alone, with a wonderful future
before him. Well, well! I meant not to grouse to you again. And here's a
letter nearly full of it. But there, I made a stupid mistake to-day, and
it's all so boring and beastly.

Anyhow, we are fighting for civilization, and the Huns are, too, in a
way. But our idea of civilization is better than the Huns' idea. So we
gradually win.


_December 21._

I have at last made up my mind. I'm going to take on this job. How
unwillingly I can hardly tell you. I wanted to be in the great Push
next year so badly. Everyone, everything, is preparing for it. The
cavalry will get through, and I shall be driving about behind in some
gilded car, or watching from some very distant hill with Jezebel (who
won't care a damn whether the cavalry get through or not).

But I had two interviews with the Major and the General to-day. Coves
like painters seem to be rather wanted, and--well, it's clear now. I
must go.

To-morrow or next week, perhaps, the extreme fascination of the job will
obliterate a certain feeling of flatness, of disappointment, of ... of
... of shirking. Yes, that's it: I feel as if I were shirking all the
horrors. You see, I shall enjoy this job immensely. All the hateful
"arrangering things" for large numbers of men, all the tiresome
formalities, all the discomfort, all the future dangers, finished
with--over. I don't say that we've had _long_ periods of danger or