We felt greatly encouraged and worked with renewed vigour.  The stacks vanished one by one.  Time appeared to slip by with gathering speed.  A kind of common rhythm seemed to pervade our movements as we plodded to and fro with mechanical regularity.

The officer went up to the stacks from which we were removing the sleepers and made a mental calculation.  “Only four hundred sleepers left now, boys—­that’s five apiece or ten to each pair.  You’ll soon be finished, and I’ve ordered lorries to take you home!”

His kindness did us good and we worked with a kind of grim determination.  My partner was coming to the end of his strength.  His knees were bent and from time to time he staggered, jerking the sleeper so as to make me wince with pain.  But he kept up obstinately.  We counted the sleepers as we received them—­one, two, three and so on.  This occupied our minds and the time passed all the more quickly.  Eight ... nine ... ten!  At last our work was done!  “Thank God,” said my partner with deep conviction.  We rested against one of the newly erected stacks, but it was not long before Sergeant Hyndman came striding up and addressed us angrily.  He had evidently been snubbed by the officer and was giving relief to his mortification by bullying us.

“What yer doin’ there?  Swingin’ it on yer mates, are yer?  Call yerselves sportsmen, do yer?  Get back an’ bloody well do yer bit!”

“We’ve done our share—­there were four hundred sleepers left, which makes ten journeys for each pair.  If it doesn’t work out it’s because some of the others have been swinging the lead behind the stacks.  We’ve carried our ten and aren’t going to do any more.”

“Why d’yer let ’em swing it on yer?  It’s yer own bleed’n’ fault!  D’yer think I’m goin’ ter stand over yer all day?  Some o’ you blokes is as ‘elpless as a lot o’ kids—­yer want a wet nurse to look arter yer!”

“That’s what you’re there for, to look after us!”

“Don’t bloody well tell me what I’m there for!  I know me job an’ don’t want no tellin’.  Get stuck into it an’ don’t let me ‘ave any o’ yer bloody lip, else yer’ll be up fur orderly room—­I shan’t give yer another warnin’!”

Seeing that argument was useless, we walked away and crossed the railway lines.  My partner growled:  “I ’ope I meet ’im in civvy life—­I’ll give ‘im somethin’ ter think about—­I’ve seen better things’n what ’e is crorlin’ about in cheese!”

There were fifty or sixty sleepers left.  We dawdled on our way back, hoping that there would be enough men in front of us to clear the lot.  The officer shouted:  “Come along, my lads, sharp’s the word and quick’s the action!  You’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

The khaki-clad flock straggled forward.  The remaining sleepers were loaded on to our shoulders—­my partner and I received the last one.  As we carried it off a cheer was raised by the other men.