Just before dozing off, Mr. Lance-Corporal butted in.

In Tommy's eyes, a Lance-Corporal is one degree below a Private. In
the Corporal's eyes, he is one degree above a General.

He ordered me to go with him and help him draw the next day's rations,
also told me to take my waterproof.

Every evening, from each platoon or machine-gun section, a
Lance-Corporal and Private goes to the Quartermaster-Sergeant at the
Company Stores and draws rations for the following day.

The "Quarter," as the Quartermaster-Sergeant is called, receives daily
from the Orderly Room (Captain's Office) a slip showing the number of
men entitled to rations, so there is no chance of putting anything
over on him. Many arguments take place between the "Quarter" and the
platoon Non-Com, but the former always wins out. Tommy says the
"Quarter" got his job because he was a burglar in civil life.

Then I spread the waterproof sheet on the ground, while the
Quartermaster's Batman dumped the rations on it. The Corporal was
smoking a fag. I carried the rations back to the billet. The Corporal
was still smoking a fag. How I envied him. But when the issue
commenced my envy died, and I realized that the first requisite of a
non-commissioned officer on active service is diplomacy. There were
nineteen men in our section, and they soon formed a semi-circle around
us after the Corporal had called out, "Rations up."

The Quartermaster-Sergeant had given a slip to the Corporal on which
was written a list of the rations. Sitting on the floor, using a