“Quite simple,” said Burgard across the table. “The barrack supplies breakfast, dinner, and tea on the Army scale to the Imperial Guard (which we call I. G.) when it’s in barracks as well as to the Line and Militia. They can all invite their friends if they choose to pay for them. That’s where we make our profits. Look!” Near one of the doors were four or five tables crowded with workmen in the raiment of their callings. They ate steadily, but found time to jest with the uniforms about them; and when one o’clock clanged from a big half-built block of flats across the street, filed out. “Those,” Devine explained, “are either our Line or Militiamen, as such entitled to the regulation whack at regulation cost. It’s cheaper than they could buy it; an’ they meet their friends too. A man’ll walk a mile in his dinner hour to mess with his own lot.” “Wait a minute,” I pleaded. “Will you tell me what those plumbers and plasterers and bricklayers that I saw go out just now have to do with what I was taught to call the Line?” “Tell him,” said the Boy over his shoulder to Burgard. He was busy talking with the large Verschoyle, my old schoolmate. “The Line comes next to the Guard. The Linesman’s generally a town-bird who can’t afford to be a Volunteer. He has to go into camp in an Area for two months his first year, six weeks his second, and a month the third. He gets about five bob a week the year round for that and for being on duty two days of the week, and for being liable to be ordered out to help the Guard in a row. He needn’t live in barracks unless he wants to, and he and his family can feed at the regimental canteen at usual rates. The women like it.” “All this,” I said politely, but intensely, “is the raving of delirium. Where may your precious recruit who needn’t live in barracks learn his drill?” “At his precious school, my child, like the rest of us. The notion of allowing a human being to reach his twentieth year before asking him to put his feet in the first position _was_ raving lunacy if you like!” Boy Bayley dived back into the conversation. “Very good,” I said meekly. “I accept the virtuous plumber who puts in two months of his valuable time at Aldershot——” “Aldershot!” The table exploded. I felt a little annoyed. “A camp in an Area is not exactly Aldershot,” said Burgard. “The Line isn’t exactly what you fancy. Some of them even come to _us_!” “You recruit from ’em?” “I beg your pardon,” said Devine with mock solemnity. “The Guard doesn’t recruit. It selects.” “It would,” I said, “with a Spiers and Pond restaurant; pretty girls to play with; and——” “A room apiece, four bob a day and all found,” said Verschoyle. “Don’t forget that.” “Of course!” I said. “It probably beats off recruits with a club.” “No, with the ballot-box,” said Verschoyle, laughing. “At least in all R.C. companies.” “I didn’t know Roman Catholics were so particular,” I ventured.