Yet there were a good many lonely ones, boys who hadn't even bothered
to change, still in their ill-shaped blue dungarees, dusty boots, and
cloth hats, some of them walking round, their heads down, and kicking
at every clump of grass or stone that came within reach of their
boots--some of them, too lonely even to look at the fun, hanging over
the fences, occasionally exchanging a few peevish words with each
other, while others gathered round the old man who kept a stall just
inside the gate and bought lemonade, ginger ale, and arrowroot
biscuits, consuming them with much assumed gusto, while others still
sat inside their tents or the Y. M. C. A. hut.

Looking at these boys gave one a deep heartache, but the sob in one's
throat changed suddenly to a laugh as one looked at their hats.
Americans in Australia have always held the prize for originality in
headgear, but that same prize must now be handed over to our soldiers
in camp. What they can do with one simple, unoffending, white-cloth
cricket-hat passes all belief. Seldom, as is the case with their
dungarees, did these boys have a hat that really fitted them, those
with big heads had the smallest hats, and those with extra small heads
got the largest size. They were all shades, from their original pure
white down, or up, to an exact match with Mother Earth. And the
shapes! Some wore them turned down all round, some turned up all
round, some turned up in front and down at the back, some vice versa,
some turned up on the left side and down at the right, and some down at
the left and up at the right; some had tucked the front part in,
leaving a large expanse of bare brow, while the back part, turned down,
shaded the nape of their neck. Some applied this idea reversed,
turning in the back; some turned the brim right in except for a small
peak à la Jockey; some had a peak back and front, made by rolling in