They discussed the question in all its bearings, but being as ignorant of the Army and its ways as the average young Englishman was in the early days of the war, they had little evidence except varied and contradictory hearsay to act upon. Both being about twenty-five they were old enough and business-like enough to consider the matter in a business-like way, and yet both were young enough to be influenced by the flavour of romance they found in a picture they came across at the time. It was entitled ‘Bring up the Guns,’ and it showed a horsed battery in the wild whirl of advancing into action, the horses straining and stretching in front of the bounding guns, the drivers crouched forward or sitting up plying whip and spur, the officers galloping and waving the men on, dust swirling from leaping hoofs and wheels, whip-thongs streaming, heads tossing, reins flying loose, altogether a blood-stirring picture of energy and action, speed and power. ‘I’ve always had a notion,’ said Duncan reflectively, ‘that I’d like to have a good whack at riding. One doesn’t get much chance of it in city life, and this looks like a good chance.’ ‘And I’ve heard it said,’ agreed Morrison, ‘that a fellow with any education stands about the best chance in artillery work. We’d might as well plump for something where we can use the bit of brains we’ve got.’ ‘That applies to the Engineers too, doesn’t it?’ said Duncan. ‘And the pottering about we did for a time with electricity might help there.’ ‘Um-m,’ Morrison agreed doubtfully, still with an appreciative eye on the picture of the flying guns. ‘Rather slow work though—digging and telegraph and pontoon and that sort of thing.’ ‘Right-oh,’ said Duncan with sudden decision. ‘Let’s try for the Artillery.’ ‘Yes. We’ll call that settled,’ said Morrison; and both stood a few minutes looking with a new interest at the picture, already with a dawning sense that they ‘belonged,’ that these gallant gunners and leaping teams were ‘Ours,’ looking forward with a little quickening of the pulse to the day when they, too, would go whirling into action in like desperate and heart-stirring fashion. ‘Come on,’ said Morrison. ‘Let’s get it over. To the recruiting-office—quick march.’ And so came two more gunners into the Royal Regiment. * * * * * When the long, the heart-breakingly long period of training and waiting for their guns, and more training and slow collecting of their horses, and more training was at last over, and the battery sailed for France, Morrison and Duncan were both sergeants and ‘Numbers One’ in charge of their respective guns; and before the battery had been in France three months Morrison had been promoted to Battery Sergeant-Major.