I dashed out to Hampstead to my flat, and packed the necessary wearing apparel, taking care to include my fly-book and my favourite split-cane trout rod in my kit. I should only be in Scotland for a couple of days, but I knew that I should be fishing with Myra at least one of them, and no borrowed rod is a patch on one's own tried favourite. I snatched an half-hour or so to write to the few relatives I have and tell them that I was joining the army after a hurried visit to Scotland to say good-bye to Myra. And then I got my kit to Dennis's rooms in Panton Street, Haymarket, just in time to have a chat with him before we joined the others at the Grand Hotel. I found him hopefully getting things ready for a long absence, sorting out unanswered letters, putting away papers, etc. On the table was an open copy of a stores catalogue. He had been trying to find suitable presents for his two small step-sisters. Dennis invariably thought of himself last of all, and then usually at someone else's request. "Well, old man," I asked, "how do you feel about it now?" "Rotten, Ronnie," he replied, with a rueful smile. "I've been on the 'phone to my silly doctor chap, and he shouted with laughter at me. Still, I shall have a jolly good shot at it as soon as the thing is definite." "I only pray to heaven," I said seriously, "that no slipshod fool of a doctor lets you through." "They won't let me in, old chap; no such luck. It's a ghastly outlook. What on earth am I to do with myself while the war lasts?" "My dear chap," I exclaimed, "it won't be as bad as all that. There will be thousands of men who won't go to the war. I shan't be surprised if you see very little difference about town even when the war's in full swing. You can't go, although you want to, and it's jolly bad luck, old man. Don't think I don't understand, but, believe me, you won't be the only man left in London by a million or two." "I know," he said penitently, "I'm grousing and worrying you. Sorry! But I can see you setting out for the Temple in the morning and leaving your house on fire. It wouldn't make it easier simply because you knew you weren't able to do anything to put out the fire. In fact, it would make it a jolly lot worse. Still, we'll cut that and change the subject. When you get back from Invermalluch give me a look up. I expect I shall be here. And, of course, give my kindest regards to Miss McLeod--oh, and the General," he added, as an afterthought. "I will, indeed," I promised readily, "and I'll wire you the train I'm coming back by. I should like you to meet it, and we can spend the few remaining days I have together. If you don't get past the doctor I should like you to keep your eye on one or two things for me while I'm away." "Of course, anything you like. The more the merrier," he answered readily; and the poor fellow brightened visibly at the thought of being able to do something for a pal.