at Anglican branch by the British, who can
be proud to have started the movement, and to be leading it. Thus
Christendom United fights for Constantinople, under the leadership
of the British, whose flag is made up of the crosses of the saints.
The army opposing the Christians fights under the crescent of Islam.

"It's the Cross against the Crescent again, my lads. By Jove, it's
splendid, perfectly splendid! And an English cross, too!

"Thank you, gentlemen; that's all; thank you."

Sec.8

The blossom and buds of our English May became the fruit and flowers
of July, and Doe and I, maturing too, entered upon the age for
Active Service. There came a day when we were ordered to report for
a doctor's examination to see if we were fit for the front.

I shan't forget that testing. All thought we had little to fear from
the doctor. The drills and route-marches in sun, wind and rain had
tanned our flesh to pink and brown, and lit the lamps of health in
our eyes. And the whites of those eyes were blue-white.

But the doctor, a curt major, said "Strip," and took Doe first.

Now, a glance at Doe, when stripped, ought to have satisfied a
doctor. His figure, small in the hips, widened to a chest like a
Greek statue's; his limbs were slender and rounded; his skin was a
baby's. But no, the stolid old doctor carried on, as though Doe were
nothing to sing songs about. He tested his eyes, surveyed his teeth,
tried his chest, tapping him before and behind, and telling him to
say "99" and to cough. All these liberties so amused Doe that he
could scarcely manage the "99" or the cough for giggling. And I was
doing my best to increase his difficulty by pretending to be in
convulsions of smothered laughter.

Then the doctor sounded Doe's heart, and, as he did it, all the
laughter went out of my life. I suddenly remembered a scene, wherein
I lay in the baths at Kensingtowe, recovering from a faint, and Dr.
Chappy looked down upon me and said: "There may be a weakness at
your heart." As I remembered it, the first time for years, my heart
missed its beats. I saw rapidly succeeding visions of my rejection
by the doctor; my farewell to Doe, as he left for romantic
Gallipoli; and my return to the undistinguished career of the
Medically Unfit. I found myself repeating, after the fashion of
younger days (though at this wild-colt period I had done with God):
"O God, make him pass me. O God, make him pass me."

"All right, get dressed," the