It is to be presumed that in the pipe-claying days of peace the hours
were apt to hang heavy in barracks, and the furbishing of buttons was
devised not alone for smartness' sake, but to occupy idle hands for
which otherwise Satan might be finding some more mischievous employment.
The theory--though it throws a lurid light on the unprofitableness of a
soldier's profession when there is no war to justify his existence--is
not devoid of sense. But why this custom, designed for that excellent
mortal, the T. Atkins who walked out with nurse-maids, and was none too
busy between-whiles, should be forced upon a totally different (if no
less estimable) T. Atkins whose job hardly gives him a moment for
meals--let alone for dalliance with the fair--I cannot pretend to
fathom. It is arguable that the ornamental soldier is suited by glossy
buttons and may properly lavish time and trouble thereupon. It is not
arguable that glossy buttons are a valid feature of the garb of a
humdrum and harassed hospital orderly.
Many a time, footsore and aching with novel toil, I could have groaned
when, instead of lying down to relax, I had to tackle the polishing of
that idiotic panoply of buttons.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99