tention to this
unusual demonstration, which was reserved only for great occasions and
for nothing less than a battalion commander.

"They are saluting you, Pilot," said Major Bayne in a whisper, himself
standing with the other officers.

Barry quickly lifted his eyes, saw the men standing, with all eyes
directed toward him, slowly looked over the rows of faces, smiled a
bright but slightly wavering smile, turned and saluted the Commanding
Officer, and sat down all trembling and shaken by this most touching
tribute of sympathy and affection.

The show began with some pictures of great allied leaders which excited
a mild interest and drew some perfunctory applause. Then came the tragic
comedy of John Bull's experiences as an immigrant, when just as the
interest began to deepen, the machine blew up, and the pictures were off
for the night.

Ordinarily such a contretemps would have been by no means fatal to the
evening's enjoyment, for in the battalion there was no lack of musical
and other talent, and an impromptu entertainment was easily possible.
Ordinarily, too, in such an emergency there would at once have arisen
a demand for the chaplain, who had come to be recognised as a great
standby in times of need such as this. To-night, however, everything
seemed changed. The mild suggestion of one of the men that the chaplain
should take the piano was promptly discouraged by the dissenting growls
of the others present. They knew well how their chaplain was feeling.

"What shall we do?" asked Major Bayne of Barry.

"Get Coleman to the piano. He is a perfect wizard," suggested Barry,
indicating a young lieutenant who had come to the battalion with the
recent draft, and who had done some accompaniments for Barry's violin
playing.

Lieutenant Coleman, on being called for, went to the piano, and began
to play. He was indeed a wizard as Barry had said, with a genius for
ragtime and popular music hall ditties, and possessed also of the
further gift of improvisation that made his services invaluable on just
such an occasion as this.

From one popular air to another he wandered, each executed with greater
brilliance than the last, but he failed to excite anything more than a
mild interest and approval. The old songs which on other occasions had
been wont to let loose the song birds of the battalion seemed to have
lost their power. It was not gloom, but a settled and immovable apathy
which apparently nothing could break.

"