me two things," I said presently. "One is that you
won't try to join the army; there is sure to be a rush of recruits in
the next few days, and the doctors will be flurried, and may skip
through their work roughshod. The other is that you will take care of
yourself, run no risks, and do nothing rash while we are away."

The first he refused. He said he must do what he could to get through,
if only to satisfy his conscience; but he made me the second promise,
and solemnly gave me his word that he would do nothing that would put
him in any danger. Then at last, at his suggestion, we turned in; he
insisted that I had an all-night journey in front of me. And so
eventually I fell asleep, saddened by the knowledge of my friend's
trouble, but somewhat relieved that I had extracted from him a promise
to take care of himself.

Little did I dream that he would break his promise to save one who was
dearer to me than life itself, or that I should owe all my present and
future happiness to poor old Dennis's inability to join the army.
Truly, as events were to prove, "he did his bit."

CHAPTER II.

THE MAN GOING NORTH.

We "made" Richmond about half-past eleven, and completed the necessary
arrangements for the housing of the boats and the disposal of our
superfluous fodder, as Jack called it, for by this time we had all
made up our minds that the war was inevitable.

The bustle of mobilisation had already taken possession of the
streets, and as we stepped out of Charing Cross Station we stumbled
into a crowd of English Bluejackets and Tommies and French reservists
in Villiers Street. We parted for the afternoon, each to attend to his
private affairs, and arranged to meet again at the Grand Hotel Grill
Room for an early dinner, as I had to catch the 7.55 from King's
Cross.

I dashed out to Hampstead to my flat, and packed the necessary wearing
apparel, taking care to include my fly-book and my favourite
split-cane trout rod in my kit. I should only be in Scotland for a
couple of days, but I knew that I should be fishing with Myra at least
one of them, and no borrowed rod is a patch on one's own tried
favourite. I snatched an half-hour or so to write to the few relatives
I have and tell them that I was joining the army after a hurried visit
to Scotland to say good-bye to Myra. And then I got my kit to Dennis's
rooms in Panton Street, Haymarket, just in time to have a chat with
him before we joined the others at the Gra