en. We fall in when the
bugle calls."

And then climb out again and look for the towel.

* * * * *

AS ENGLAND EXPECTS.

When the war broke out and Big Ben had boomed the hour which marked the
rejection of the ultimatum, Bates was full of fire. He had bought a
penny flag, and in a spirit of grim determination had walked the
streets, processing with the processionists. There was no brag or bounce
about him, no hideousness of noise or mafficking, no hatred of
foreigners or cruelty of uncharity, but a grim steadfastness of
determination which meant that, so far as he might, Bates would do or
die.

He returned to his third-floor back in St. Pancras, and, lighting his
lamp and a candle to ensure as much illumination as possible, looked
with brooding earnestness at his reflection in the worn uncertain
looking-glass.... He began to realise the truth of things. The flag was
in his button-hole, his eye had a glint of lingering excitement, his
brain was ruffled; he saw himself as he was. England must fight,
Englishmen must help, for England could not fail. On her rested the
truest and noblest concerns of humanity.

Bates removed his coat. He was five-foot two; his chest measurement was
less than proportionate to his height. His muscles, so far as they
existed, were flabby. He moved his arms to exercise their powers; then,
realising his weariness, went slowly to bed. Bates was a little tiny
man, but his heart was large.

He was restless throughout the night, rose but little refreshed, and
breakfasted badly. He went forth to his labours--he was a ledger-clerk
in some Stores--feeling greatly depressed. Gradually, however, that
sense of oppression passed. The world was full of sunshine, and, though
the faces of the passers-by were anxious and unsmiling, there was no
despondency about them. Where no despondency is, there surely is hope.
Bates began to feel hopeful. The sight of a Territorial with a kitbag
completed his recovery. He strode out with an unusual vigour, squared
his poor chest, swung his arms, and whistled softly to himself the
chorus of some piece of music-hall patriotism--

"They can't build boys of the bull-dog breed!"

By the time he reached the office--well before the hour--he was a
pugnacious and confident patriot for all his scarcity of feet and
inches.

The days that followed were full of emotions and excitements. Three of
Bates's colleagues went the Khaki way, and