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"Everything is rotten," grumbled Duff, gazing gloomily through the
drizzling rain at the rugged outline of wharves that marked the Boulogne
docks.
"Look at this," cried Duff, sweeping his hand toward the deck. "You
would think this stuff was shot out of the blower of a threshing
machine--soldier's baggage, kits, quartermaster's stores--and this is a
military organisation. Good Lord!"
"Lieutenant Duff! Is Lieutenant Duff here?" It was the O. C.'s voice.
"Yes, sir," said Duff, going forward and saluting.
"Mr. Duff, I wish you to take charge of the Transport for the present.
Lieutenant Bonner is quite useless--helpless, I mean. You will find
Sergeant Mackay a reliable man. Sorry I couldn't give you longer notice.
I think, however, you are the man for the job."
"I'll do my best, sir," said Duff, saluting, as the O. C. turned away.
"What did I tell you, Duff?" said Barry. "You certainly are in for it,
and you have my sympathy."
"Sympathy! Don't you worry about me," said Duff.


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