An hour or two afterwards the door was thrown open and there stood on the threshold the most amazing apparition that ever sought admittance into a gentleman's library; an apparition, however, very familiar during these days to English eyes. From the shapeless Tam-o'-Shanter to the huge boots it was caked in mud. Over a filthy sheepskin were slung all kinds of paraphernalia, covered with dirty canvas which made it look a thing of mighty bulges among which a rifle was poked away. It wore a kilt covered by a khaki apron. It also had a dirty and unshaven face. A muddy warrior fresh from the trenches, of course. But what was he doing here? "I see, sir, you don't recognise me," he said with a smile. "Good Lord!" I cried, with a start, "it's Randall." "Yes, sir. May I come in?" "Come in? What infernal nonsense are you talking?" I held out my hand, and, after greeting him, made him sit down. "Now," said I, "what the deuce are you doing in that kit?" "That's what I've been asking myself for the last ten months. Anyhow I shan't wear it much longer." "How's that?" "Commission, sir," he answered. "Oh!" said I. His entrance had been so abrupt and unexpected that I hardly knew as yet what to make of him. Speculation as to his doings had led me to imagine him engaged in some elegant fancy occupation on the fringe of the army, if indeed he were serving his country so creditably. I found it hard to reconcile my conception of Master Randall Holmes with this businesslike Tommy who called me "Sir" every minute. "I'll tell you about it, sir, if you're interested. But first--how is my mother?" "Your mother? You haven't seen her yet?" Here, at least, was a bit of the old casual Randall. He shook his head. "I've only just this minute arrived. Left the trenches yesterday. Walked from the station. Not a soul recognised me. I thought I had better come here first and report, just as I was, and not wait until I had washed and shaved and put on Christian clothes again. He looked at me and grinned. "Seeing is believing." "Your mother is quite well," said I. "Haven't you given her any warning of your arrival?" "Oh, no!" he answered. "I didn't want any brass bands. Besides, as I say, I wanted to see you first. Then to look in at the hospital. I suppose Phyllis Gedge is still at the hospital?" "She is. But I think, my dear chap, your mother has the first call on you."