First they make you go away and dress yourself up nice
and clean and then they look you over and make you feel nearly as
childish as you look. Then they put a gun into your hand that is much
too heavy for comfort and make you do all sorts of ridiculous things
with this gun, after which you fall in with numerous thousands of
other men who have been subjected to the same treatment, and together
we all go trotting past any number of officers, who look you over with
uncanny earnestness through eyes that seem to perceive the remotest
defect with fiendish accuracy. Then we all trot home again and call it
a review.
This is all very well for some people, but not for me. I'm a little
too self-conscious. I have always the feeling that I am the review,
that it has been staged particularly for my discomforture, and that
every officer in camp is on the lookout for any slight irregularity in
my clothes or conduct. In this they have little difficulty. I assist
them greatly myself. To-day, for instance:
Item one: Dropped my gun.
Item two: Talked in ranks. I asked the guy next to me how he would
like to go to a place and he said that he'd see me there first.
Item three: Failed to follow the guide.
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