At the entrance to the Berkeley Hotel lay a large automobile, with a spurred and highly polished military chauffeur. At the door of Colonel Rannion's room was stationed a spurred and highly polished, erect orderly--formidable contrast to the flaccid waiters who slouched palely in the corridors. The orderly went into the room and saluted with a click. George followed, as into a dentist's surgery. It was a small, elegant, private sitting-room resembling a boudoir. In the midst of delicately tinted cushions and flower-vases stood Colonel Rannion, grey-haired, blue-eyed, very straight, very tall, very slim--the slimness accentuated by a close-fitted uniform which began with red tabs and ended in light leggings and gleaming spurs. He conformed absolutely to the traditional physical type of soldier, and the sight of him gave pleasure. "Good morning. Cannon. Glad to see you." He seemed to put a secret meaning into the last words. He shook hands as he spoke, firmly, decisively, efficiently. "I hope I'm not troubling you too much," George began. "Troubling me! Sit down. You want a commission. The Army wants to give commissions to men like you. I think you would make a good officer." "Of course I'm absolutely ignorant of the Army. Absolutely." "Yes. What a pity that is! If you'd only been a pre-war Territorial you might have done three weeks' urgent work for your country by this time." The remark was a polite reproof. "I might," admitted George, to whom the notion of working for his country had never before occurred. "Do you think you'd like the Artillery?" Colonel Rannion questioned sharply. His tone was increasing in sharpness. With an equal sharpness George answered unhesitatingly: "Yes, I should." "Can you ride?" "I can _ride_. In holidays and so on I get on my mother's horses." "Have you hunted?" "Never." "H'm!... Well, I know my friend Colonel Hullocher, who commands the Second Brigade of--er--my Division, is short of an officer. Would you care for that?" "Certainly." Without saying anything else Colonel Rannion took up the telephone. In less than half a minute George heard him saying: "Colonel Hullocher.... Ask him to be good enough to come to the telephone at once.... That you, Hullocher?" George actually trembled. He no longer felt that heavy weight on his stomach, but he felt 'all gone.' He saw himself lying wounded near a huge gun on a battlefield. Colonel Rannion was continuing into the telephone: