Page:War's dark frame (IA warsdarkframe00camp).pdf/158

128 facts have really levelled that. The presence of death, its constant threat—for even here the lady and the Tommy are equally subject to an aeroplane bomb or an unlovely Zeppelin attack—make one's recollection of such social rifts a little abashed. And that's the best thing that can be said for this war, the finest thing that can survive it. The individual has learned largely to seek his own level, holding within easy reach a universal and attainable goal.

In this very camp a soldier pointed out a working example. The three recreation huts sift the men into an instinctive classification.

"In one," the soldier said, "you can toss your fags on the floor, lift your feet on the tables, and shout your blooming head off, if you please. In the second maybe ash trays don't grow, but the floor's the place for feet, and shouting's not tolerated. The third, over there, is a regular little club where you behave like a gentleman, and read the papers and magazines, and improve your mind.”

He glanced at his neatly brushed uniform.

"I like that place, and it's funny. Most of the men after they've been here a while drift up that way. Anybody likes to be respectable if he gets the chance,"

Our party entered the officers' mess for tea and