The word was new to me, and I had to ask for enlightenment. When it came, I was _beside_ myself with anger. The term is American and applies to a man who "dodges" the "draft", which is their word for conscription. A wickeder or more reckless charge could not be made. Will applied for a commission within the first year and a half of the war. "You can try," I said, "but I _don't_ think the doctor will pass you." He did, however, and Will served for three years with great distinction and was quite invaluable to his general. It was the fashion at one time to sneer at the staff, but I have yet to learn that war can be carried on without one; and I sometimes wonder whether the sneers were not mingled with a little _envy_ on the part of men who were not efficient enough to be selected. "Culroyd, you have no business to say that," I told him. "Will doesn't deny it," he said. And then I thought my boy shewed both wit and dignity. "If any one thought it worth while to call me a homicidal maniac," he said, "I doubt if I should bother to deny it." "They'll never accuse you of even a tendency to homicide--even in war," muttered Culroyd, but he shewed that he had got the worst of it. I did not like to take Hilda upstairs and leave them a chance of reopening the wrangle; but, when I suggested that we should all go up together, Will remembered that he had promised to meet a man at his club. "I'm sorry," said Hilda very nicely, though I felt that I really ought to apologize to her for the little scene. "I wanted to talk to you and him privately... There's no harm in speaking before you, Lord Culroyd, because you're one of the family. My father wrote to ask if I knew of any one suitable for a position which is being created in one of his yards--rather a good appointment. He would like to give it to a man who has been in the army, he says. I have the letter upstairs and I remember that the starting salary would be a thousand a year. I think it is the Morecambe yards." ... My dear! ... I said to myself, "Ann Spenworth, you must keep your head." For a dozen reasons I wanted to get Will out of London. If Culroyd continued to _haunt_ my house, I was thankful to get Will out of the way, though I cannot imagine that this ever entered Hilda's little love-lorn head. And an _appointment_, when we had waited so long! Besides, London is _not_ good for Will's health. He wakes up _with_ a head-ache and _without_ an appetite--as a matter of course....