It was one of those unforgettable evenings magnificently calm, which marked with triumphant irony the end of the world. The green park with its cluster of elms presented its usual appearance on a Saturday afternoon. The honest thump of the ball upon the bat, so dear to English hearts, resounded on every side: the following cry--Run it out! the groups of youths sprawling about the scorers, the lounging spectators. Not a rumour of the coming storm had touched those serene hearts. Close to him a bevy of women and children were playing a kind of rounders. The batter was a big young woman whom he recognised at once as Ruth. One of the the fielders was little Alice scudding about the surface of green on thin black legs like a water-beetle on a pond. Then Ernie saw him and came sauntering towards him, a child clinging solemnly to one finger of each hand. There was an air of strain about the old Hammer-man, as of one waiting on the alert for a call, that distinguished him, so the Colonel thought, from the gay throng. "What about it, sir?" he asked gravely. "It's coming, Caspar," the Colonel answered. "That's my belief." "And I shan't be sorry if it does," said Ernie with a quiet vindictiveness. "Shall you go?" asked the Colonel. He knew the other's time as a reservist was up. "Sha'n't I?" Ernie answered with something like a snort. The Colonel was not deceived. It was not the patriot, not the old soldier, who had uttered that cry of distress: it was the human being, bruised and suffering, and anxious to vent his pain in violence on something or somebody, no matter much who. "Yes, sir, I shall go, if it's only as cook in the Army Service Corps." The Colonel shook his head. "If it comes," he said, "every fighting man'll be wanted in his right place. Would you like to rejoin the old battalion at Aldershot, if I can work it for you? Then you'd go out with the Expeditionary Force." Ernie's eyes gleamed. "Ah, just wouldn't I?" he said. Just then there was a shout from the players. Ruth was out and retired. She came towards them, glowing, laughing, her fingers touching her hair to order. She was thirty now, but at that moment she did not look twenty-five. Then she saw the Colonel and deliberately turned away. Susie and Jenny pursued their mother. The Colonel walked off through the groups of white-clad players towards Alf's garage in the Goffs. A tall man was standing at the gate on to Southfields Road, contemplating the English scene with austere gaze. It was Royal--the man who would know. "You think it's going to be all right?" asked the Colonel so keen as to forget his antipathy. "Heaven only knows with this Government," the other replied. "I've just been on the telephone. Haldane's going back to the War Office, they say." "Thank God for it!" cried the Colonel. His companion shrugged.