"And now we wish to report ourselves again for duty, sir," concluded Everest. "Ought we to see Major Résimont?" Major Planchenoît shook his head sadly. "My gallant comrade, alas! has been severely wounded. There is, however, one consolation; he is safe in England, enjoying the hospitality of your incomparable fellow-countrymen. If we had not an assured refuge in England, where would we be? But, messieurs, it will be necessary to provide you with uniforms and equipment. I will give you an order for the Quartermaster. When you are fitted out, report yourselves at the divisional staff office." Obtaining new uniforms was out of the question: there were none to be had. So, in place of their motor-cyclists' kit, the lads had to be content with second-hand infantryman's uniform--heavy blue coat, loose trousers tucked into black-leather gaiters, and a blue, peakless cap similar to the British "pill-box" of half a century ago, but worn squarely on the head instead of being perched at a rakish angle. To render their head-gear more conspicuous it was adorned by a band of dark-red cloth. The Quartermaster was deeply apologetic. "But, after all, messieurs," he added, "a uniform is a uniform all the world over. It entitles, or should entitle, its wearer to the courtesies of war." The lads agreed on this point, although they realized that the heavy clothing was not at all suitable for dispatch-riding, where agility on the part of the cyclist and a near approach of invisibility in the matter of his uniform were essential conditions to efficiency. Nor were revolvers served out to them. Instead, they were given Mauser rifles and short bayonets, the ammunition for the former being kept loosely in two large black-leather pouches attached to the belt. "As regards your motor-cycles," continued the Quartermaster, "you may choose for yourselves. Believe me, we have a large and varied assortment." As soon as Kenneth and Rollo had donned their cumbersome uniforms and equipment they were handed over to the care of a sergeant, who was told to escort them to the store where the reserve motor-transport vehicles were kept. This building, formerly a brewery, stood at a distance of two miles from the advanced line of trenches, and on the banks of the River Nethe. In the brewery yard were nearly two hundred motor-cars and lorries arranged in various grades of efficiency; while in the cellars were rows and rows of motor-cycles and ordinary bicycles in all sorts of conditions. "Voilà, messieurs!" exclaimed the sergeant with a comprehensive wave of the hand. In spite of the fact that the lads were but corporals the sergeant invariably addressed them as "messieurs". From the staff officers downwards, all with whom the British lads came in contact paid this courteous tribute to their devotion to Belgium's cause.