He was not himself a guardsman, but there was no trace of jealousy in his voice. I have noticed the same thing again and again. There are people who dislike the Guards, accusing them of conceit or resenting certain privileges. I never met any one who refused to give the Guards first place in battle, on the march, in camp. It is a magnificent record to have established in an army like ours, a wonderful record to have kept through a long-drawn war like this, when every regiment has been destroyed and remade of new material half a dozen times. Another draft came by. "Territorials, sir." My friend was prejudiced; but he is not the only soldier of the old army who is prejudiced against territorials. Against new battalions, Kitchener battalions, of regular regiments there is no feeling. The old army took them to its heart, bullied them, taught them as if they were younger brothers. The Territorials are step-brothers at best. Yet they have made good in France. I wonder that the prejudice persists. They do not march like the Guards. Even the London Territorials have not accomplished that. But they have established themselves as fighters, in the desperate holding of the Ypres salient in earlier days, and ever since everywhere in the long battle-line. "R.F.A.," said my friend, "and the biggest draft of the lot. There must be a damned lot of guns at the front now. We could have done with a few more at Mons. It's guns that's wanted in this war. Guns and men behind them. And it's guns, and gunners anyway, we're getting. Look at those fellows now. You'll see worse drafts; though"--he surveyed the men carefully--"you might see better. There's some of them now that's young, too young. They'll be sent back sick before they harden. Beg pardon, sir, but here's our lot at last. I must be going." He saluted and turned. A body of men with an elderly officer at their head followed the gunners closely. They turned sharp to the left up the steep little road which leads into our camp. They halted in the middle of the parade ground. Salutes were given and returned. The draft was handed over. The elderly officer detached himself and made his way to the mess-room. I followed to greet him, and to hear the latest news from England. "What sort of a passage?" "Vile. We crossed in a superannuated paddle-boat. Everybody sick. Not a spot to lie down in. My men were detailed to clean up the blessed packet afterwards. That's why we're late. Such a scene. Ugh! Can I get a drink?"