The War Office authorities accused me of having trained the dog. I had not trained him: that was his natural voice. I suggested to the War Office authorities that instead of quarrelling with my dog for talking his own language, they should train their sergeants to use English. They would not see it. Unpleasantness was in the air, and, living where I did at the time, I thought it best to part with Columbus. I could see what the War Office was driving at, and I did not desire that responsibility for the inefficiency of the British Army should be laid at my door. Some twenty years ago we, in London, were passing through a riotous period, and a call was made to law-abiding citizens to enrol themselves as special constables. I was young, and the hope of trouble appealed to me more than it does now. In company with some five or six hundred other more or less respectable citizens, I found myself one Sunday morning in the drill yard of the Albany Barracks. It was the opinion of the authorities that we could guard our homes and protect our wives and children better if first of all we learned to roll our “eyes right” or left at the given word of command, and to walk with our thumbs stuck out. Accordingly a drill sergeant was appointed to instruct us on these points. He came out of the canteen, wiping his mouth and flicking his leg, according to rule, with the regulation cane. But, as he approached us, his expression changed. We were stout, pompous-looking gentlemen, the majority of us, in frock coats and silk hats. The sergeant was a man with a sense of the fitness of things. The idea of shouting and swearing at us fell from him: and that gone there seemed to be no happy medium left to him. The stiffness departed from his back. He met us with a defferential attitude, and spoke to us in the language of social intercourse. “Good morning, gentlemen,” said the sergeant. “Good morning,” we replied: and there was a pause. The sergeant fidgetted upon his feet. We waited. “Well, now, gentlemen,” said the sergeant, with a pleasant smile, “what do you say to falling in?” We agreed to fall in. He showed us how to do it. He cast a critical eye along the back of our rear line. “A little further forward, number three, if you don’t mind, sir,” he suggested. Number three, who was an important-looking gentleman, stepped forward. The sergeant cast his critical eye along the front of the first line. “A little further back, if you don’t mind, sir,” he suggested, addressing the third gentleman from the end. “Can’t,” explained the third gentleman, “much as I can do to keep where I am.” The sergeant cast his critical eye between the lines. “Ah,” said the sergeant, “a little full-chested, some of us. We will make the distance another foot, if you please, gentlemen.” In pleasant manner, like to this, the drill proceeded.