"Oh, I say, man, what rot! I tell you I’ve come 6000 miles to join. You used to be keen enough." A cloud of disappointment, almost of affront, hovered upon his face. Then suddenly he flashed a look of mingled horror and disgust at his friend. "You don’t tell me you’re a professional footballer?" he muttered. "No, no," replied Amory with a laugh. "Don’t be alarmed, Randy; I shan’t sit at home and read the papers." "That’s all right, then. But do make up your mind, there’s a good chap. I tell you what, what’s your address? I’ll wire you to-morrow when I’ve had a go at the governor’s men. Twelve out of five hundred!--no wonder the poor old governor is biffy. It’s a disgrace. Well, I’ll wire you; let you know how I get on as a recruiting officer. Then we’ll meet somewhere. Find out the headquarters of the Public School Corps, will you? and make up your mind to join that with me. It won’t spoil your chance of a commission--perhaps hurry it up. Anyway, it will be jolly to be together.... Waiter, bring me some more of that soufflé. You don’t get things like that in the backwoods, Amory." CHAPTER II SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE Kenneth on his way home looked in at the doctor’s. An attack of influenza after his return from Belgium had pulled him down, and he had put off joining the army until assured of his complete recovery. As he put it to the doctor: "A crock would be no use to K. of K." "You’ll do," said the doctor after thoroughly overhauling him. "All you want is a little hardening up. I’ll give you a prescription. The open-air life of the army will do you good. And I wish you luck." Thus fortified, as soon as he got home he posted an application for a commission in the Flying Corps. Next day, soon after lunch, he received a telegram from Randall. "No go. Slackers. Mules. Governor mad. Come and lend a hand." He handed the telegram to his mother. "What does it mean?" she asked. "Your friend must be rather a curious person." "Oh, it’s just Randy," said Kenneth, who had told his mother of his meeting with Randall on the previous day. "At school he always wanted to lug everybody with him. I don’t see what I can do. I’ll wire him." He wrote on the reply-paid form: "Sorry. Not my line." Within a couple of hours came a second telegram. "Rotter. Writing." Next morning’s post brought the letter.