CHAPTER VI 

 THE WISDOM OF "K" 

 It was a sweltering heat—a day to drink squash and be on a cool veranda. But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so the Australian, New Zealander, and Lancashire men had to hoof it across the sun-baked desert. The troops were divided into three columns, each striking for a different point. They were bent on a combined scheme in which the "General Idea," "Special Idea," and other vague military terms figured large. 

 "Ain't the heat hellish? My nose is feeling like a banana, and my shirt's glued to my back! Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or Donkey Brigade. Gravel crushing's no good to me," growled Bill, changing his rifle for the hundredth time. 

 "We're suffering for the sins of our predecessors," remarked Claud, shifting his eyeglass to look at the Pyramids. 

 "How's that?" 

 "In South Africa the Australians went any old way. They fought well, but, as Roberts said, they lacked discipline. That's why you and I are here. They're going to grind the insubordination out of us. They'll march us and sweat us to death.  'Trouble maketh a strong man, Pain maketh a true man,' so some old wag has said." 

 "Wish ould Kitchener had me thirst, an' this ould pack on his back," growled Doolan. 

 "Ay, an' these damnt moskeetes are ay chowin' ma face off," said Sandy. 

 "Couldn't we have been trained in Australia instead of this confounded hole?" added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day. 

 "Too many pubs, too many ma's, and too many politicians about for that," Claud answered.  "Besides, Kitchener's a smart fellow. He knows his job. We're here to keep these bally niggers in order, and, at the same time, train for war. You can't push it on to 'K'; he's too mighty quick for you an' me." 

 "But when the blazes are we goin' to the war? I'm thirstin' to cut some fellow's throat, but all I gets is march and sweat—sweat and march—and fourteen days C.B. if I look sideways at these officer blokes. No good to me, boys. I'm here for killin', not for road punchin'. I've got a head like a barrel and feet like boiled tomatoes." 

 "Ye shouldna' drink beer," piped Sandy. 

 "Wot should I drink then?" 

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