When I am field marshal
of a long campaign, my first act will be to establish swimming tanks
and laundries as a branch of the Army Service Corps. Meanwhile, see
here!" His open hand came down on his dust-colored coat. Ten minutes
later, the print of every finger was still distinctly visible.
Weldon watched him sympathetically. Thanks to the efforts of Kruger
Bobs, his own clothing was slightly less filled with dust, and his
abandoned socks came back to him in a state of comparative
cleanliness. Satisfied with the fact, he made no effort to inquire
into the method of its achievement.
Carew, meanwhile, his coat off, his sleeves rolled to his elbows,
was grappling with his efforts to produce laundry effect from a
wooden bucket and a few quarts of dingy water. Beyond splashing his
putties and giving himself a pain in the hinges of his back, he
accomplished little. The garments were very wet; but their griminess
was increased, rather than diminished. Carew's face fell, as he
lifted them one by one. Then he shook his head.
"They certainly aren't cleaner; but they may be a bit fresher for
being irrigated," he observed hopefully. "Look out!"
Weldon dodged out of range, as a sock, squeezed from the ankle
downward, yielded up its irrigation in a sudden spurt through the
toe.
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