"I don't know," said young Mr. Cash.e.l.l, with icy politeness, opening the door one half-inch, "if you still happen to be interested in our trifling experiments. But, should such be the case----"

I drew him aside, whispering, "Shaynor seemed going off into some sort of fit when I spoke to you just now. I thought, even at the risk of being rude, it wouldn't do to take you off your instruments just as the call was coming through. Don't you see?"

"Granted--granted as soon as asked," he said unbending. "I _did_ think it a shade odd at the time. So that was why he knocked the chair down?"

"I hope I haven't missed anything," I said.

"I'm afraid I can't say that, but you're just in time for the end of a rather curious performance. You can come in, too, Mr. Shaynor. Listen, while I read it off."

The Morse instrument was ticking furiously. Mr. Cash.e.l.l interpreted: "'_K.K.V. Can make nothing of your signals_.'" A pause. "'_M.M.V. M.M.V.

Signals unintelligible. Purpose anchor Sandown Bay. Examine instruments to-morrow.'_ Do you know what that means? It's a couple of men-o'-war working Marconi signals off the Isle of Wight. They are trying to talk to each other. Neither can read the other's messages, but all their messages are being taken in by our receiver here. They've been going on for ever so long. I wish you could have heard it."

"How wonderful!" I said. "Do you mean we're overhearing Portsmouth ships trying to talk to each other--that we're eavesdropping across half South England?"

"Just that. Their transmitters are all right, but their receivers are out of order, so they only get a dot here and a dash there. Nothing clear."

"Why is that?"

"G.o.d knows--and Science will know to-morrow. Perhaps the induction is faulty; perhaps the receivers aren't tuned to receive just the number of vibrations per second that the transmitter sends. Only a word here and there. Just enough to tantalise."

Again the Morse sprang to life.

"That's one of 'em complaining now. Listen: '_Disheartening--most disheartening_.' It's quite pathetic. Have you ever seen a spiritualistic seance? It reminds me of that sometimes--odds and ends of messages coming out of nowhere--a word here and there--no good at all."

"But mediums are all impostors," said Mr. Shaynor, in the doorway, lighting an asthma-cigarette. "They only do it for the money they can make. I've seen 'em."

"Here's Poole, at last--clear as a bell. L.L.L. _Now_ we sha'n't be long."

Mr. Cash.e.l.l rattled the keys merrily. "Anything you'd like to tell 'em?"

"No, I don't think so," I said. "I'll go home and get to bed. I'm feeling a little tired."

THE ARMY OF A DREAM

SONG OF THE OLD GUARD

"And thou shalt make a candlestick of pure gold of beaten work shall the candlestick be made: his shaft and its branches, his bowls, his knops, and his flowers, shall be the same.

"And there shall be a knop under two branches of the same, and a knop under two branches of the same, and a knop under two branches of the same, according to the six branches that proceed out of the candlestick.

Their knops and their branches shall be the same."--_Exodus._

"Know this, my brethren, Heaven is clear And all the clouds are gone-- The Proper Sort shall flourish now, Good times are coming on"-- The evil that was threatened late To all of our degree, Hath pa.s.sed in discord and debate, And, _Hey then up go we!_

A common people strove in vain To shame us unto toil, But they are spent and we remain, And we shall share the spoil According to our several needs As Beauty shall decree, As Age ordains or Birth concedes, And, _Hey then up go we!_

And they that with accursed zeal Our Service would amend, Shall own the odds and come to heel Ere worse befall their end For though no naked word be wrote Yet plainly shall they see What pinneth Orders to their coat, And, _Hey then up go we!_

Our doorways that, in time of fear, We opened overwide Shall softly close from year to year Till all be purified; For though no fluttering fan be heard Nor chaff be seen to flee-- The Lord shall winnow the Lord's Preferred-- And, _Hey then up go we!_

Our altars which the heathen brake Shall rankly smoke anew, And anise, mint, and c.u.mmin take Their dread and sovereign due, Whereby the b.u.t.tons of our trade Shall all restored be With curious work in gilt and braid, And, _Hey then up go we!_

Then come, my brethren, and prepare The candlesticks and bells, The scarlet, bra.s.s, and badger's hair Wherein our Honour dwells, And straitly fence and strictly keep The Ark's integrity Till Armageddon break our sleep ...

And, _Hey then up go we!_

THE ARMY OF A DREAM

PART I

I sat down in the club smoking-room to fill a pipe.

It was entirely natural that I should be talking to "Boy" Bayley. We had met first, twenty odd years ago, at the Indian mess of the Tyneside Tail-twisters. Our last meeting, I remembered, had been at the Mount Nelson Hotel, which was by no means India, and there we had talked half the night. Boy Bayley had gone up that week to the front, where I think he stayed a long, long time.

But now he had come back.

"Are you still a Tynesider?" I asked.

"I command the Imperial Guard Battalion of the old regiment, my son," he replied.

"Guard which? They've been Fusiliers since Fontenoy. Don't pull my leg, Boy."

"I said Guard, not Guard-s. The I. G. Battalion of the Tail-twisters.

Does that make it any clearer?"

"Not in the least."

"Then come over to the mess and see for yourself. We aren't a step from barracks. Keep on my right side. I'm--I'm a bit deaf on the near."

We left the club together and crossed the street to a vast four-storied pile, which more resembled a Rowton lodging-house than a barrack. I could see no sentry at the gates.

"There ain't any," said the Boy lightly. He led me into a many-tabled restaurant full of civilians and grey-green uniforms. At one end of the room, on a slightly raised dais, stood a big table.

"Here we are! We usually lunch here and dine in mess by ourselves. These are our chaps--but what am I thinking of? You must know most of 'em.

Devine's my second in command now. There's old Luttrell--remember him at Cherat?--Burgard, Verschoyle (you were at school with him), Harrison, Pigeon, and Kyd."

With the exception of this last I knew them all, but I could not remember that they had all been Tynesiders.

"I've never seen this sort of place," I said, looking round. "Half the men here are in plain clothes, and what are those women and children doing?"

"Eating, I hope," Boy Bayley answered. "Our canteens would never pay if it wasn't for the Line and Militia trade. When they were first started people looked on 'em rather as catsmeat-shops; but we got a d.u.c.h.ess or two to lunch in 'em, and they've been grossly fashionable since."

"So I see," I answered. A woman of the type that shops at the Stores came up the room looking about her. A man in the dull-grey uniform of the corps rose up to meet her, piloted her to a place between three other uniforms, and there began a very merry little meal.

"I give it up," I said. "This is guilty splendour that I don't understand."

"Quite simple," said Burgard across the table. "The barrack supplies breakfast, dinner, and tea on the Army scale to the Imperial Guard (which we call I. G.) when it's in barracks as well as to the Line and Militia.