"All right. I suppose they’ll put us in billets for the present, so I’ll arrange to have you billeted on the governor. He’ll get seven bob a day for the two of us; rather a rag, eh?" Kenneth was early at the station on his return journey next morning. The platform was crowded, a good sprinkling of men in khaki mingling with the civilian passengers always to be seen before the departure of a north-going express. Standing at the bookstall, deliberating on a choice of something to read, Kenneth heard behind him the accents of a voice which he had heard so recently as to recognise it at once, though the few words he caught were French. He glanced over his shoulder and was not surprised to see Stoneway, the orator of Mr. Randall’s yard. The man was walking up the platform beside a companion somewhat older than himself, upon whose arm he rested his hand as he spoke earnestly to him. "A French Socialist, I suppose," thought Kenneth. "One of the anti-war people. Well, war is horrible, and I don’t know I wouldn’t agree with them if they had the power to put a stop to it altogether. But they haven’t, and that French fellow had better realise that we’ve got to lick the Germans first. I was evidently right about Stoneway: he’s better educated than most working men." He bought a magazine, and thought no more of the matter, seeing nothing further of the two men. As he stepped into a first-class compartment he smiled at the thought that it was probably the last time for many a long day. Henceforth he was to be a "Tommy." Harry met him at the station. "Billets no go, old chap," was his greeting. "We’re quartered in an old factory--beastly hole. But I’ve told the colonel we’re going to stick it. Come along. They’re going to serve out uniforms this afternoon; no fitting required! You’ll be rather difficult: average chest but extra long arms. I suppose we might buy our own, but we’d better make shift with the rest. And I say, who do you think we’ve got for one of our officers?" "Who?" "You remember that squirt, Dick Kennedy?" "You don’t say so!" "That’s just what I do say. I was loafing about the barracks when he came up to me, fresh as paint in his new uniform. ’What O, Randall!’ says he. ’You here, too? Ordered your kit, I suppose?’ ’I believe it’s on order,’ said I, and I saluted, just for the fun of the thing. ’Oh, I say, we don’t do that to each other,’ says he; ’we don’t salute anyone under a major, do we?’ ’I don’t want a dose of clink--already,’ said I. ’What on earth do you mean?’ says he. Then I told him, and you should have seen his face! He wouldn’t believe me at first, and went as red as a turkey-cock when I said I wouldn’t mind earning half-a-crown extra a week as his servant." "I always thought him a bit of an ass at school," said Kenneth, "but a genial ass, you know. He wasn’t in the O.T.C., and I expect we shall have some sport with him."