every hour brought some
discussion of international problems. The counting-house thrilled with
arguments of high strategy. What KITCHENER should do, and where CHARLIE
BERESFORD should be sent, were questions confidently settled. Bates,
whose want of stature made him too insignificant to speak with
confidence in these discussions, held his peace, but listened with both
ears. What was the good of this talk? It was incumbent on Englishmen to
do.

That night he was one of a multitude who stood at the entrance of the
local drill-hall hoping to become Territorials. He rather expected to be
chaffed for his pains, but, though there was plenty of jollity among
those waiting, there was no unkindness; and at last, thanks to squeezing
and patience, he was able to get within the charmed gate. So far and no
farther; not so far even as to the medical officer. A watchful sergeant
grasped him by the shoulder, and, smiling with earnest eyes, said:

"It's no use wasting your time here, young fellow-my-lad! You'd better
shave your upper lip and apply to the Boy Scouts."

Bates turned on his heel and, sick at heart, went out by a side door. He
was angry with himself, at his inadequate inches. What could he do for
England? He was deeply grieved at his uselessness. He crept up to his
room and sat in the darkness, brooding.

His spirits were low for some days, and the sight of regiments marching,
of soldiers with their friends, of placards telling the truth and the
not-so-truthful, made him feel very futile. He spent hours of every
evening wandering through the streets, watching the lighted windows of
Buckingham Palace, gazing at the policemen who guarded Downing Street.
He wanted to do so much for England, yet he must stand and wait. He had
left the mimic flag in his pin-cushion at home; he was in no mood for
wearing it now.

Then an idea came to him. His spirits rose, his eyes brightened; he
walked again with something of a martial swing, and whistled to himself
softly and inoffensively that even a neighbour might not have heard.

Bates had found his way. He too could serve England. He sacrificed all
but his bare necessities, and grew actually thinner and even less
obtrusive. His outer insignificance shrank, but inwardly he was as happy
as a warrior. Every week a postal order went to this relief-fund or to
that. It was regularly acknowledged to "One of the Bull-dog Breed."

Bates wears his flag boldly and is confident that we shall wi