"Do you mean to say you like it?" asked Montague, wishing his companion reeked a little less of his recent exertions. "Why not like it?" said Private Waller. "We're in it, ain't we?" "I suppose so," said the other shortly. Private Waller rubbed his hands together. "He's a sergeant, ain't he?" "Do you mean that strutting bounder who drilled us to-day?" "Lordee! don't let him hear you say that." The little man went pale at the thought. "Say, if you don't like him, just wait until you see Sergeant-Major 'Awkins." A cockney of even ten years' Canadian citizenship loses his h's when excited. Montague began to wince under it, and wished a dozen times that his companion would hold his tongue and give him a chance to think, to separate the varied experiences of the day, and to edit his thoughts. He shrugged his shoulders and acknowledged the greeting of Mrs. Merryweather from a huge motor-car. Waller's eyes bulged. "I say, you know some swells, don't you? What was you--a chauffeur?" Montague considered. "No; I was a sort of social buffoon." Waller considered. "Something in the plumbing line?" he ventured. "Not exactly," answered Montague, and muttered, "Duration of the war--and six months after--with plebs like this!" "I'm a carpenter by trade," vouchsafed Private Waller, and then emitted a shout of delight. "I say," he cried; "blime, if it ain't the missus!" In a few moments they reached a little Englishwoman, not much more than a girl, who was guiding a baby-carriage containing a chubby little youngster of some two years of age. "'Ello, Bill!" she said. "'Ow's the army?" "Great," said her husband; "but meet my pal, Private Montague.--Private Montague, meet my old woman." "Glad to know any friend of Bill's," said Mrs. Waller warmly. Montague bowed. "Thank you," he said gravely. "You are giving up a lot in letting your husband go to the war." "You said I had to, Emily." The girl pouted. "'E would go." "But you wanted to go, Bill." "Of course; but I said----" "I know--about the biby; but----" "There you go again. Didn't you say I must?" "Oh, well, Mr. Montague"--the little woman looked frankly into his gray-blue, unreadable eyes--"the biby's a boy, and when he grows up I cawn't say to 'im, ''Arry, your father was a slacker!' Now, can I, Mr. Montague?" He made no answer, but a thoughtful look crept into the hard, unsmiling eyes. "Come and have a bit of supper, pard?" Private Waller rubbed his hands together at the prospect. "No--no, thanks," said Montague hastily. He was longing for privacy and the solace that comes with solitude. "Some other night, perhaps, when we have our uniforms." "Good enough!" cried the cheery little man. "Then we'll do Queen Street together and show the girls--what ho--oh no!" Montague raised his hat. "Good evening," he said. "So long," said Private Waller. "See you in the morning."