nd horrified. "Do you think I'm shamming, so as to get out
of serving in the Army?"

"Not consciously. Unconsciously, I think you are. What does your
doctor say?"

Doggie was taken aback. He had no doctor. He had not consulted one for
years, having no cause for medical advice. The old family physician
who had attended his mother in her last illness and had prescribed
Gregory powders for him as a child, had retired from Durdlebury long
ago. There was only one person living familiar with his constitution,
and that was himself. He made confession of the surprising fact. Peggy
made a little gesture.

"That proves it. I don't believe you have anything wrong with you. The
nerves business made me sceptical. This is straight talking. It's
horrid, I know. But it's best to get through with it once and for
all."

Some men would have taken deep offence and, consigning Peggy to the
devil, have walked out of the room. But Doggie, a conscientious, even
though a futile human being, was gnawed for the first time by the
suspicion that Peggy might possibly be right. He desired to act
honourably.

"I'll do," said he, "whatever you think proper."

Peggy was swift to smite the malleable iron. To use the conventional
phrase might give an incorrect impression of red-hot martial ardour on
the part of Doggie.

"Good," she said, with the first smile of the day. "I'll hold you to
it. But it will be an honourable bargain. Get Dr. Murdoch to overhaul
you thoroughly, with a view to the Army. If he passes you, take a
commission. Dad says he can easily get you one through his old friend
General Gadsby at the War Office. If he doesn't, and you're unfit,
I'll stick to you through thick and thin, and make the young women of
Durdlebury wish they'd never been born."

She put out her hand. Doggie took it.

"Very well," said he, "I agree."

She laughed, and ran to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To the telephone--to ring up Dr. Murdoch for an appointment."

"You're flabby," said Dr. Murdoch the next morning to an anxious
Doggie in pink pyjamas; "but that's merely a matter of unused muscles.
Physical training will set it right in no time. Otherwise, my dear
Trevor, you're in splendid health. I was afraid your family history
might be against you--the child of elderly parents, and so forth. But
nothing of the sort. Not only are you a first-class life for an
insurance company, but you're a first-class life for the Army--and
that's saying a