I fancy I
was well thought of in those days at the War House.
"Say what you like about him," I can hear A.G.4 remarking to M.S.19
(decimal 9 recurring) as they met in the corridor on their way to
lunch, "but I find him a patient, well-behaved young fellow."
"Yes," would be the thoughtful answer, "it seems almost a pity we are
going to lose him."
Speaking strictly between ourselves, I have never thought much of the
Military Secretary branch. What made them think they were going to
lose me as easily as all that?
What I said to myself was: "Henry, my lad, thirteen shillings and
elevenpence a day is thirteen shillings and elevenpence a day; now
isn't it? And war isn't war when there is a peace coming on. Why then
throw up a fat income just for the sake of getting into long trousers?
You stay where you are till they come and fetch you."
So I just stayed where I was, and I conducted the operation with such
ability and tact that Whitehall came to forget all about me. My name
went on appearing, with ever-increasing dignity and beauty, in the
Army List; but that made no difference. You see, though lots of people
write the Army List, no one ever reads it; only from time to time
a man will surreptitiously turn up his own name, just to renew his
feeling of self-importance, or in an emergency he will look up the
name of a friend in order to get the right initials after it and not
risk giving that personal offence which may prevent the loan.
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