They went on to the large disused factory which had been turned into barracks for the occasion. The quartermaster was superintending the allocation of uniforms, and they were in due course fitted more or less with khaki and boots. As yet there were no belts, bandoliers or rifles. The basement of the factory consisted of two large halls with bare brick walls and concrete floors. One of them, to be used as a drill hall, was empty. The other was fitted up with wooden frames to serve as sleeping bunks. At one end was a platform on which stood a piano, and one of the recruits was laboriously thumping out a rag-time. Another was playing a different tune on a penny whistle. At one corner four men were absorbed in halfpenny nap; elsewhere groups were amusing themselves in various ways. Kenneth and his friend joined one of these. There was a little stiffness at first. The workmen, ranging in years from nineteen to thirty-five or so, were a little shy and subdued in the company of the "young governor." But the ice was broken when Ginger came up, his square mouth broadened in a grin. He was about to touch his cap to Harry, but altered his mind when he remembered the situation, and wiped his lips instead. "Bet you don’t never guess," he said. "What’s up, Ginger?" asked his mates in chorus. "Why, Stoneway--he’s been and gone and done it." "What’s he been and gone and done? Not done himself in?" "Course not! Think he’s broke his heart ’cause of losing us, then? No fear! He’s ’listed, that’s what he’s done." "Garn!" "True as I’m standing here. He’s ’listed right enough. He’s got a chest on him too; forty inches, doctor said. He’s been and got shaved; he’ll be along here presently. His beard, that is. We can let our moustaches grow now, if we like." He rubbed his upper lip. "Hair-brush, that’s what it is. Bet a penny it’s as good as Stoneway’s under six weeks." "But what’s he ’listed for, after all his jaw?" asked one of the men. "Converted, that’s what he is," Ginger replied. "Seen the error of his ways, or else he’s so sweet on me he couldn’t bear the parting. ’You made me love you, I didn’t want to do it,’" he hummed. "This here khaki looks all right, mates, don’t it? Matches my hair. Here, old cockalorum," he shouted to the man at the piano, "we’ve had enough of that there funeral march. Play more cheerful, or we’ll all be swimming in our tears." Ginger’s high spirits were infectious, and the group of which Kenneth and Harry formed a part chatted and laughed away the afternoon.