n as death, or a shrapnel. Now, to business. You fellows
look fit. What's your names?"

"Bill Buster's mine."

"Age?"

"About thirty--that's near enough."

"Religion?"

"Ain't got any."

"That means you're officially C. of E."

"What's that, Sam--eh--sir?"

"Church of England--they father queer birds like you."

"Now, your father and mother?"

"None."

"How's that?"

"I was found as a kid on the Woolamaloo Road, with a newspaper for a
bellyband and a rubber tit in my mouth. The old woman who found me
said I dropped from heaven."

"The other's the most likely place. Now, sign.

"Right! Next."

Paddy Doolan described himself as an Irishman, born in Kerry, and an
egg-merchant by trade.

"Your religion?" asked Sam.

"Sure, I'm a Catholic."

"When were you at Confession last?"

"It's a long time now, yer riverance; but if yis'll lend me a pound
I'll have something worth confessing by early Mass to-morrow."

"_Your_ name, now?"

"Sandy Brown."

"Where from?"

"Glesca, sir."

"Where's Glesca?"

"The place whaur they mak' gunboats an' bailies."

"Trade?"

"Coal merchant--I mean stoker."

"Married?"

"Often."

A few more questions settled Sandy. Then Claud came forward, adjusting
his eyeglass.

"Better take that window out of your face, young fellow. What's your
name?"

"Claud Dufair."

"Father?"

"Lord Dufair."

"You're the goods, young fellow. Now, do you think you can stand up to
me for five rounds?"

"Boxing's a beastly bore, sir; but I would have a go--certainly."

"Right! I'll make you corporal. We've need of your brains. By the
way, why did you leave home--women and wine, eh?"

"Well--yes, sir."

"Human failing--we're all like that," soliloquised Sam, who had been
one of the lads in his day. "Now, boys, about turn, and off for your
uniform--good day."

"Good day, sir," replied the four, attempting to salute.

"Good lads--good lads!" muttered Sam to himself as they stumbled
through the door.

Three days afterwards Sam had his thousand men. He quartered them in
tents, selected some old soldiers for instructors, and commenced to
train for war. Sergeant-Major Jones, an ex-Imperial Army man, was the
terror of the show. This warrant officer realised what he was up
against--a thousand rebels against convention, hypocrisies, and shams.
They called a spade a spade. "Red tape" they cursed, and stupid
officialdom they loathed. They were freemen, Bohem