One of my patients had been a subterranean lavatory attendant. You would
have thought his ambitions--after visits to Egypt, Malta, the
Dardanelles and France--might have soared to loftier altitudes. He had
survived hair-raising adventures; he had taken part in the making of
history; although wounded he had not been incapacitated for an active
career in the future; and he was neither illiterate nor unintelligent.
Yet he told me, with obvious satisfaction, that his place was being kept
open for him. I was, as it were, invited to rejoice with him over the
destiny which was his. I may add that the singular revelations which he
imparted as to the opportunities for extra earnings in his troglodyte
trade extorted from me a more enthusiastic sympathy than might be
supposed possible.
That agreeable domestic pet, _homo sapiens_, remains unchanged even when
you dress him up in a uniform and set him fighting. He is always
consistently inconsistent; he is always both reasonable and
unreasonable. You can try to cast him in a mould, but he resumes his
normal shapelessness the moment the mould is removed.
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