duke Trevor, who had lived his life as
a clean gentleman, was in a category apart.

Now, he found that his talk with the Irishman had been an antidote to
the poison. He felt ashamed. Did he dare set himself up to be finer
clay than that common soldier? Spiritually, was he even of clay as
fine? In a Great Judgment of Souls which of the twain would be among
the Elect? The ultra-refined Mr. Marmaduke Trevor of Denby Hall, or
the ignorant poet-warrior of Ballinasloe? "Not Doggie Trevor," he said
between his teeth. And he went home in a chastened spirit.

Phineas McPhail appeared punctually at half-past one, and feasted
succulently on fried sole and sweetbread.

"Laddie," said he, "the man that can provide such viands is a Thing of
Beauty which, as the poet says, is a Joy for Ever. The light in his
window is a beacon to the hungry Tommy dragging himself through the
viscous wilderness of regulation stew."

"I'm afraid it won't be a beacon for very long," said Doggie.

"Eh?" queried Phineas sharply. "You'd surely not be thinking of
refusing an old friend a stray meal?"

Doggie coloured at the coarseness of the misunderstanding.

"How could I be such a brute? There won't be a light in the window
because I shan't be there. I'm going to enlist."

Phineas put his elbows on the table and regarded him earnestly.

"I would not take too seriously words spoken in the heat of midnight
revelry, even though the revel was conducted on the genteelest
principles. Have you thought of the matter in the cool and sober hours
of the morning?"

"Yes."

"It's an unco' hard life, laddie."

"The one I'm leading is a harder," said Doggie. "I've made up my
mind."

"Then I've one piece of advice to give you," said McPhail. "Sink the
name of Marmaduke, which would only stimulate the ignorant ribaldry of
the canteen, and adopt the name of James, which your godfathers and
godmothers, with miraculous foresight, considering their limitations
in the matter of common sense, have given you."

"That's a good idea," said Doggie.

"Also it would tend to the obliteration of class prejudices if you
gave up smoking Turkish cigarettes at ten shillings a hundred and
arrived in your platoon as an amateur of 'fags.'"

"I can't stand 'fags,'" said Doggie.

"You can. The human organism is so constituted that it can stand the
sweepings of the elephants' house in the Zoological Gardens. Try. This
time it's only 'fags.'"

Doggie took one from the crump