"
There was a brief silence, and then the Stunt Pilot lifted up his voice and
spoke eloquently about the War Office and Brass Hats generally. He said
that they had hearts of granite and were strangers to all loving-kindness.
Their days were spent in idleness in the Metropolis (so said the Stunt
Pilot), while he and his fellows drove rotten 'buses for hours together
over the beastliest district in Europe. Of an evening the Carlton and the
Piccadilly, the Bing Boys and the Bing Girls, all the delights of London
were ready to their hands, while poor devils like himself, shorn of leave,
were condemned to languish in a moth-eaten Mess in the society of such
people as the Adjutant. Where was the sense in it, where the justice, and
when the deuce were they, any of them, going to get a chance at the
bath-room?
The Adjutant regarded him with amused pity.
"The fact of it is," he observed, "you people have been absolutely spoilt
over leave. When I was in the Infantry we used to consider three or four
days in six months quite handsome."
The Stunt Pilot inquired sarcastically whether he meant three or four days'
work or three or four days' leave.
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