B.
153, and he ceased to take any interest in his platoon from that
moment. In vain I urged upon him the consummate folly of neglecting
to inquire more closely into the case of a reprobate in No. 11 Platoon
who had so far forgotten all sense of discipline as to set out his
kit with haversack on the left instead of the right (or _vice-versa_,
I forget which, but the Sergeant-Major spotted it.). He even went
the length of saying he didn't care a cuss; and when I asked
him sarcastically if he had forgotten the Platoon Commander's
pamphlet-bible, "Am I offensive enough?" he said he thought he was,
and I agreed with him.
When the whole mess-room was simply a-flutter with torn-out leaves
from his A.B. 153, representing his abortive attempts to put down his
application succinctly and plausibly, we all began to take an interest
in his case. We crowded round and offered him most valuable hints.
Together we got through two very pleasant evenings and three or four
A.B.'s 153, and still the application remained in a tentative state.
We got on all right to start with, but it was after the "I have the
honour to submit for the approval and recommendation of the Commanding
Officer this my application for two months' business leave" that we
got stuck.
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