"Very good. Pack your bag--quick."

The man knelt, and with supremely deft hands returned all to the bag, lashed and tied it, and fell back.

"Arms," said Harrison. "Strip and show ammunition."

The man divested himself of his rolled greatcoat and haversack with one wriggle, as it seemed to me; a twist of a screw removed the side plate of the rifle breech (it was not a bolt action). He handed it to Harrison with one hand, and with the other loosed his clip-studded belt.

"What baby cartridges!" I exclaimed. "No bigger than bulletted breech- caps."

"They're the regulation .256," said Harrison. "No one has complained of 'em yet. They expand a bit when they arrive.... Empty your bottle, please, and show your rations."

The man poured out his water-bottle and showed the two-inch emergency tin.

Harrison pa.s.sed on to the next, but I was fascinated by the way in which the man re-established himself amid his straps and buckles, asking no help from either side.

"How long does it take you to prepare for inspection?" I asked him.

"Well, I got ready this afternoon in twelve minutes," he smiled. "I didn't see the storm-cone till half-past three. I was at the Club."

"Weren't a good many of you out of town?"

"Not _this_ Sat.u.r.day. We knew what was coming. You see, if we pull through the inspection we may move up one place on the roster for foreign service.... You'd better stand back. We're going to pillow-fight."

The companies stooped to the stuffed kit-bags, doubled with them variously, piled them in squares and mounds, pa.s.sed them from shoulder to shoulder like buckets at a fire, and repeated the evolution.

"What's the idea?" I asked of Verschoyle, who, arms folded behind him, was controlling the display. Many women had descended from the carriages, and were pressing in about us admiringly.

"For one thing, it's a fair test of wind and muscle, and for another it saves time at the docks. We'll suppose this first company to be drawn up on the dock-head and those five others still in the troop-train. How would you get their kit into the ship?"

"Fall 'em all in on the platform, march'em to the gangways," I answered, "and trust to Heaven and a fatigue party to gather the baggage and drunks in later."

"Ye-es, and have half of it sent by the wrong trooper. I know _that_ game," Verschoyle drawled. "We don't play it any more. Look!"

He raised his voice, and five companies, glistening a little and breathing hard, formed at right angles to the sixth, each man embracing his sixty- pound bag.

"Pack away," cried Verschoyle, and the great bean-bag game (I can compare it to nothing else) began. In five minutes every bag was pa.s.sed along either arm of the T and forward down the sixth company, who pa.s.sed, stacked, and piled them in a great heap. These were followed by the rifles, belts, greatcoats, and knapsacks, so that in another five minutes the regiment stood, as it were, stripped clean.

"Of course on a trooper there'd be a company below stacking the kit away,"

said Verschoyle, "but that wasn't so bad."

"Bad!" I cried. "It was miraculous!"

"Circus-work--all circus-work!" said Pigeon. "It won't prevent 'em bein'

sick as dogs when the ship rolls." The crowd round us applauded, while the men looked meekly down their self-conscious noses.

A little grey-whiskered man trotted up to the Boy.

"Have we made good, Bayley?" he said. "Are we _en tat de partir_?"

"That's what I shall report," said Bayley, smiling.

"I thought my bit o' French 'ud draw you," said the little man, rubbing his hands.

"Who is he?" I whispered to Pigeon.

"Ramsay--their C.O. An old Guard captain. A keen little devil. They say he spends six hundred a year on the show. He used to be in the Lincolns till he came into his property."

"Take 'em home an' make 'em drunk," I heard Bayley say. "I suppose you'll have a dinner to celebrate. But you may as well tell the officers of E company that I don't think much of them. I sha'n't report it, but their men were all over the shop."

"Well, they're young, you see," Colonel Ramsay began.

"You're quite right. Send 'em to me and I'll talk to 'em. Youth is the time to learn."

"Six hundred a year," I repeated to Pigeon. "That must be an awful tax on a man. Worse than in the old volunteering days."

"That's where you make your mistake," said Verschoyle. "In the old days a man had to spend his money to coax his men to drill because they weren't the genuine article. You know what I mean. They made a favour of putting in drills, didn't they? And they were, most of 'em, the children we have to take over at Second Camp, weren't they? Well, now that a C. O. is sure of his _men_, now that he hasn't to waste himself in conciliating an'

bribin', an' beerin' _kids_, he doesn't care what he spends on his corps, because every pound tells. Do you understand?"

"I see what you mean, Vee. Having the male material guaranteed----"

"And trained material at that," Pigeon put in. "Eight years in the schools, remember, as well as----"

"Precisely. A man rejoices in working them up. That's as it should be," I said.

"Bayly's saying the very same to those F. S. pups," said Verschoyle.

The Boy was behind us, between two young F. S. officers, a hand on the shoulder of each.

"Yes, that's all doocid interesting," he growled paternally. "But you forget, my sons, now that your men are bound to serve, you're trebly bound to put a polish on 'em. You've let your company simply go to seed. Don't try and explain. I've told all those lies myself in my time. It's only idleness. _I_ know. Come and lunch with me to-morrow and I'll give you a wrinkle or two in barracks." He turned to me.

"Suppose we pick up Vee's defeated legion and go home. You'll dine with us to-night. Good-bye, Ramsay. Yes, you're _en etat de partir_, right enough.

You'd better get Lady Gertrude to talk to the Armity if you want the corps sent foreign. I'm no politician."

We strolled away from the great white statue of the Widow, with sceptre, orb, and crown, that looked toward the city, and regained the common, where the Guard battalion walked with the female of its species and the children of all its relatives. At sight of the officers the uniforms began to detach themselves and gather in companies. A Board School corps was moving off the ground, headed by its drums and fifes, which it a.s.sisted with song. As we drew nearer we caught the words, for they were launched with intention:--

'Oo is it mashes the country nurse?

The Guardsman!

'Oo is it takes the lydy's purse?

The Guardsman!

Calls for a drink, and a mild cigar, Batters a sovereign down on the bar, Collars the change and says "Ta-ta!"

The Guardsman!

"Why, that's one of old Jemmy Fawne's songs. I haven't heard it in ages,"

I began.

"Little devils!" said Pigeon.

"Speshul! Extra speshul! Sports Edition!" a newsboy cried. "'Ere y'are, Captain. Defeat o' the Guard!"