ned by the awful monotony of it all.

During those seven dreary months, in that dismal slum-grown town, we
learnt all the tricks of barrack-life. We knew how to "come the old
soldier"; we knew how and when to "wangle out" of doing this or that
fatigue; we practised the ancient art of "going sick" when we knew a
long route march was coming off next day.

We knew how to "square" the guard if we came in late, and the others
learnt how to dodge church parade.

"'E never goes to church parade."

"No; 'e was a fly one--'e was."

"Wotchermean?"

"Put 'isself down as Quaker."

"Lummy--that's me next time I 'list--Quaker Oats!"

By this time I had been promoted to the rank of corporal.

Next to the regimental sergeant-major, I had the loudest drill voice on
the square, and shouting at squad-drill and stretcher-drill was about
the only thing I ever did well in the army--except that, having been a
scout, I was able to instruct the signalling squad.

Route marches and field-days were a relief from the drill square. For
five months we got no issue of khaki. Many of the men were through at
the knees, and tattered at the elbows. Some were buttonless and patched.
I had to put a patch in my shorts. Our civilian boots were wearing
out--some were right through. Heels came off when they "right turned,"
others had their soles flapping as they marched.

My "batman," who cleaned my boots and swept out the bunk, had his
trousers held together with a huge safety-pin. The people called us
"Kitchener's Rag-time Army." We became so torn, and worn, and ragged,
that it was impossible to go out in the town. Being the only one in
scout rig-out I drew much attention.

"'Ere 'e comes, Moik-ell!"

"Kitchener's cowboy! Isn't he lovely!"

"Bejazus! so-it-is!"

"Come an' see Path-rick--Kitchener's
cowboy!--by-the-holy-sufferin'-jazus!"

I found an old curio-shop down near the docks, and here I used to
rummage among the gilded Siamese idols, and the painted African gods and
drums. I discovered some odd parts of A Thousand-and-One Arabian Nights,
which I bought for a penny or two, and took back to my barrack-room to
read. By this means I forgot the gray square, and the gray line of the
barracks outside, and the bare boards and yellow-washed walls within.

I used to practise "slipping" the guard at the guard-room gate. This
form of amusement became quite exciting, and I was never caught at it.

Next I got a very old and worn copy of the