The Colonel I had not seen: the Adjutant had dismissed me to the devil: and Archibald Plinlimmon had treated me as I have told.
All this indifference contained much comfort.

I began to understand the restfulness of a great army--a characteristic left clean out of account in a boy's imaginings, who thinks of war as a series of combats and brilliant personal efforts at once far more glorious and more terrifying than the reality.
So I dreamed, secure, until awakened by my comrades' voices, lifted all together and all excitedly questioning Sergeant Henderson, whose head and shoulders intruded through the flap-way.
"Light Company and Number 3," he was announcing.
"Blasted favouritism!" swore the man next to me.

"Ain't there no other battalion company in the regiment, that Number 3's been picked for special twice now in four days ?" "The Major's sweet on 'em, that's why," snarled another.
"I ain't saying nothing against the Bobs.

But what's the matter with _us_, I'd like to know?
Why Number 3 again?
Ugh, it makes me sick!" "Our fun'll come later, lads," said the sergeant cheerfully.
"When you reach _my_ years you'll have learnt to wait.

Now, if you'd asked _me_, I'd have chosen the grenadiers: they're every bit as good as a light company for this work." "Ay--grenadiers and Number 4.