edge of the bed, Weldon eyed him amicably.

"Don't preach, Carew," he answered coolly. "It doesn't do my soul
any good, and it only renders you a bore. It has always been a
clause of my creed that two good things are better than one."

Nevertheless, in spite of his haste to unpack his calling clothes,
it was full three days later that Weldon turned his face eastward in
search of the home of Ethel Dent. Moreover, in all those three days,
he had given scarcely a thought to the companion of his voyage.
Notwithstanding his first impressions, Weldon had found much to
interest him in Cape Town. The streets, albeit unlovely, were full
of novel sights and the patter of novel tongues. Cape carts and
Kaffirs, traction engines and troopers, khaki everywhere and yet
more khaki, and, rising grimly behind it all, the naked face of
Table Mountain covered with its cloth of clouds! It was all a tumult
of busy change, bounded by the unchanging and the eternal. For one
entire morning, Weldon loitered about the streets, viewing all
things with his straightforward Canadian gaze, jostling and jostled
by turns. War had ceased to be a myth, and, of a sudden, was become
a grim reality; yet in the face of it all his courage never
faltered. His sole misgivings concerned themselves with the contrast
between the seasoned regulars marching to their station, and his
boyish self, full of eager enthusiasm, but trained only in the
hunting field, the polo ground and the gymnasium. Then, gripping his
hope in both hands, he resolutely shouldered his way into the
nearest recruiting office. He went into the office as Harvard
Weldon, amateur athlete and society darling of his own home city. He
came out as Trooper Weldon of the First Regiment of Scottish Horse.

He spent the next morning in sorting over his miscellaneous luggage.
In the light of Cape Town and the practical advice which had been
his for the asking, his outfit appeared comically complete. Two
thirds of it must be stored in Cape Town; of the other third, one
full half must be left with the negro servants at the hotel. His
toilet fixtures would have been adequate for a Paris season; his
superfluous rugs would have warmed him during a winter on the apex
of the North Pole. It was with something between a smile and a sigh
that he stowed away the greater part of his waistcoats and neckties,
in company with the silver-mounted medicine chest by which his
mother had set such store. It was as Carew had