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On his left he could hear the distressing sounds of Dunshie's dolorous progress; but these were growing fainter. The reason was that Dunshie, like most persons who follow the line of least resistance, was walking in a circle. In fact, a few minutes later his circuitous path brought him out upon the long straight road which ran up over the hill towards the trenches.
He would stand no nonsense this time. "Halt!" he commanded. "Wha goes there?" "Hey, Jock," inquired a husky voice, "is that you?" This was another most irregular answer. Declining to be drawn into impromptu irrelevancies, Mucklewame stuck to his text. "Advance yin," he continued, "and give the coontersign, if any!" Private Dunshie drew nearer. "Jock," he inquired wistfully, "hae ye gotten a fag?"
What he understood and appreciated was Argyle Street on a Saturday night. That was life! That was light! That was civilisation! As for creeping about in this uncanny wood, filled with noxious animals and adhesive vegetation well, Dunshie was heartily sorry that he had ever volunteered for service as a scout.
With a sigh of relief Dunshie stepped out upon the good hard macadam, and proceeded with the merest show of stealth up the gentle gradient. But he was not yet at ease. The over-arching trees formed a tunnel in which his footsteps reverberated uncomfortably. The moon had retired behind a cloud. Dunshie, gregarious and urban, quaked anew.
"Do you know what a chiropodist is?" he asked. "No, sirr," replied Dunshie, with unabated aplomb. To do him justice, the revelation of the nature of his prospective labours made no difference whatever to Dunshie's willingness to undertake them.
Private Dunshie remarks: "We have been getting no pay these three weeks, but I doubt the officer will know what has become of the money." It is the firm conviction of every private soldier in "K " that all fines and deductions go straight into the pocket of the officer who levies them.
He picks up the first of these, and reads "Private Dunshie. While on active service, refusing to obey an order. Lance-Corporal Ness!" The figure upon the prisoner's right suddenly becomes animated. Lance-Corporal Ness, taking a deep breath, and fixing his eyes resolutely on the whitewashed wall above the Captain's head, recites "Sirr, at four P.M. on the fufth unst.
Reflecting longingly upon his bright and cosy billet, with the "subsistence" which was doubtless being prepared against his return, he saw no occasion to reconsider his opinion that in the country no decent body should over be called up to go out after dark unaccompanied. At that moment Dunshie would have bartered his soul for the sight of an electric tram. The darkness grew more intense.
The scouts silently scattered, and each man set out to pierce his allotted section of the enemy's position. Private Dunshie, who had hoped for a road, or at least a cart-track, to follow, found himself, by the worst of luck, assigned to a portion of the thick belt of wood which stretched between the two roads. Nature had not intended him for a pioneer: he was essentially a city man.
M'Snape duly became a lance-corporal, while Dunshie resigned his post as a scout and returned to duty with the company. Under this designation it is convenient to lump the whole heavenly host which at present orders our goings and shapes our ends. It includes The War Office; The Treasury; The Army Ordnance Office; Our Divisional Office; and other more local and immediate homes of mystery.
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