g;
those of the second year, so to say, usually got a corner-seat and looked
out of window; while here and there a senior officer, or a subaltern with
a senior's face, selected a place, arranged his few possessions, and got
out a paper, not in the Oxford manner, as if he owned the place, but in
the Cambridge, as if he didn't care a damn who did.

Peter made a horrible hash of it. He tried to find a seat with all his
goods in his hands, not realising that they might have been deposited
anywhere in the train, and found when it had started, since, owing to a
particular dispensation of the high gods, everything that passed the
barrier for France got there. He made a dive for one place and sat in it,
never noting a thin stick in the corner, and he cleared out with enormous
apologies when a perfectly groomed Major with an exceedingly pleasant
manner mentioned that it was his seat, and carefully put the stick
elsewhere as soon as Peter had gone. Finally, at the end of a carriage,
he descried a small door half open, and inside what looked like an empty
seat. He pulled it open, and discovered a small, select compartment with
a centre table and three men about it, all making themselves very
comfortable.

"I beg your pardon," said Peter, "but is there a place vacant for one?"

The three eyed him stonily, and he knew instinctively that he was again a
fresher calling on the second year. One, a Captain, raised his head to
look at him better. He was a man of light hair and blue, alert eyes,
wearing a cap that, while not looking dissipated, somehow conveyed the
impression that its owner knew all about things--a cap, too, that carried
the Springbok device. The lean face, with its humorous mouth, regarded
Peter and took him all in: his vast expanse of collar, the wide black
edging to his shoulder-straps, his brand-new badges, his black buttons
and stars. Then he lied remorselessly:

"Sorry, padre; we're full up."

Peter backed out and forgot to close the door, for at that moment a
shrill whistle was excruciatingly blown. He found himself in the very cab
of the Pullman with the glass door before him, through which could be
seen a sudden bustle. Subalterns hastened forward from the more or less
secluded spots that they had found, with a vision of skirts and hats
behind them; an inspector passed aggressively along; and--thanks to those
high gods--Peter observed the hurrying hotel porter at that moment. In
sixty seconds the door had bee