The youths at loading practice did not pause for the growing hush round them, nor did the drum and fife band drop a single note. Bayley exploded afresh. "The Schools are preparing for our attack, by Jove! I wonder who's directin' 'em. Do _you_ know?"

The warrior of the Eighth District looked up shrewdly.

"I saw Mr. Cameron speaking to Mr. Levitt just as the Guard went up the road. 'E's our 'ead-master, Mr. Cameron, but Mr. Levitt, of the Sixth District, is actin' as senior officer on the ground this Sat.u.r.day. Most likely Mr. Levitt is commandin'."

"How many corps are there here?" I asked.

"Oh, bits of lots of 'em--thirty or forty, p'r'aps, Sir. But the whistles says they've all got to rally on the Board Schools. 'Ark! There's the whistle for the Private Schools! They've been called up the ground at the double."

"Stop!" cried a bearded man with a watch, and the crews dropped beside the breech wiping their brows and panting.

"Hullo! there's some attack on the Schools," said one. "Well, Marden, you owe me three half-crowns. I've beaten your record. Pay up."

The boy beside us tapped his foot fretfully as he eyed his companions melting among the hillocks, but the gun-team adjusted their bets without once looking up.

The ground rose a little to a furze-crowned ridge in the centre so that I could not see the full length of it, but I heard a faint bubble of blank in the distance.

"The Sat.u.r.day allowance," murmured Bayley. "War's begun, but it wouldn't be etiquette for us to interfere. What are you saying, my child?"

"Nothin', Sir, only--only I don't think the Guard will be able to come through on so narrer a front, Sir. They'll all be jammed up be'ind the ridge if _we_'ve got there in time. It's awful sticky for guns at the end of our ground, Sir."

"I'm inclined to think you're right, Moltke. The Guard is hung up: distinctly so. Old Vee will have to cut his way through. What a pernicious amount of blank the kids seem to have!"

It was quite a respectable roar of battle that rolled among the hillocks for ten minutes, always out of our sight. Then we heard the "Cease Fire"

over the ridge.

"They've sent for the Umpires," the Board School boy squeaked, dancing on one foot. "You've been hung up, Sir. I--I thought the sand-pits 'ud stop you."

Said one of the jerseyed hobbledehoys at the gun, slipping on his coat: "Well, that's enough for this afternoon. I'm off," and moved to the railings without even glancing towards the fray.

"I antic.i.p.ate the worst," said Bayley with gravity after a few minutes.

"Hullo! Here comes my disgraced corps!"

The Guard was pouring over the ridge--a disorderly mob--horse, foot, and guns mixed, while from every hollow of the ground about rose small boys cheering shrilly. The outcry was taken up by the parents at the railings, and spread to a complete circle of cheers, handclappings, and waved handkerchiefs.

Our Eighth District private cast away restraint and openly capered. "We got 'em! We got 'em!" he squealed.

The grey-green flood paused a fraction of a minute and drew itself into shape, coming to rest before Bayley. Verschoyle saluted.

"Vee, Vee," said Bayley. "Give me back my legions. Well, I hope you're proud of yourself?"

"The little beasts were ready for us. Deuced well posted too," Verschoyle replied. "I wish you'd seen that first attack on our flank. Rather impressive. Who warned 'em?"

"I don't know. I got my information from a baby in blue plush breeches.

Did they do well?"

"Very decently indeed. I've complimented their C.O. and b.u.t.tered the whole boiling." He lowered his voice. "As a matter o' fact, I halted five good minutes to give 'em time to get into position."

"Well, now we can inspect our Foreign Service corps. We sha'n't need the men for an hour, Vee."

"Very good, Sir. Colour-sergeants!" cried Verschoyle, raising his voice, and the cry ran from company to company. Whereupon the officers left their men, people began to climb over the railings, and the regiment dissolved among the spectators and the school corps of the city.

"No sense keeping men standing when you don't need 'em," said Bayley.

"Besides, the Schools learn more from our chaps in an afternoon than they can pick up in a month's drill. Look at those Board-schoolmaster captains b.u.t.tonholing old Purvis on the art of war!"

"Wonder what the evening papers'll say about this," said Pigeon.

"You'll know in half an hour," Burgard laughed. "What possessed you to take your ponies across the sand-pits, Pij?"

"Pride. Silly pride," said the Canadian.

We crossed the common to a very regulation paradeground overlooked by a statue of our Queen. Here were carriages, many and elegant, filled with pretty women, and the railings were lined with frockcoats and top hats.

"This is distinctly social," I suggested to Kyd.

"Ra-ather. Our F.S. corps is nothing if not correct, but Bayley'll sweat 'em all the same."

I saw six companies drawn up for inspection behind lines of long sausage- shaped kit-bags. A band welcomed us with "A Life on the Ocean Wave."

"What cheek!" muttered Verschoyle. "Give 'em beans, Bayley."

"I intend to," said the Colonel, grimly. "Will each of you fellows take a company, please, and inspect 'em faithfully. '_En etat de partir_' is their little boast, remember. When you've finished you can give 'em a little pillow-fighting."

"What does the single cannon on those men's sleeves mean?" I asked.

"That they're big gun-men, who've done time with the Fleet," Bayley returned. "Any F.S. corps that has over twenty per cent big-gun men thinks itself ent.i.tled to play 'A Life on the Ocean Wave'--when it's out of hearing of the Navy."

"What beautiful stuff they are! What's their regimental average?"

"It ought to be five eight, height, thirty-eight, chest, and twenty-four years, age. What is it?" Bayley asked of a Private.

"Five nine and half, Sir, thirty-nine, twenty-four and a half," was the reply, and he added insolently, "_En tat de partir_." Evidently that F.S.

corps was on its mettle ready for the worst.

"What about their musketry average?" I went on.

"Not my pidgin," said Bayley. "But they wouldn't be in the corps a day if they couldn't shoot; I know _that_ much. Now I'm going to go through 'em for socks and slippers."

The kit-inspection exceeded anything I had ever dreamed. I drifted from company to company while the Guard officers oppressed them. Twenty per cent, at least, of the kits were shovelled out on the gra.s.s and gone through in detail.

"What have they got jumpers and ducks for?" I asked of Harrison.

"For Fleet work, of course. _En tat de partir_ with an F. S. corps means they are amphibious."

"Who gives 'em their kit--Government?"

"There is a Government allowance, but no C. O. sticks to it. It's the same as paint and gold-leaf in the Navy. It comes out of some one's pockets.

How much does your kit cost you?"--this to the private in front of us.

"About ten or fifteen quid every other year, I suppose," was the answer.