“Then, too, we have some town Volunteer corps that lay themselves out to attract promising youths of nineteen or twenty, and make much of ’em on condition that they join their Line battalion and play for their county. Under the new county qualifications—birth or three years’ residence—that means a great deal in League matches, and the same in County cricket.” “By Jove, that’s a good notion,” I cried. “Who invented it?” “C. B. Fry—long ago. He said in his paper, that County cricket and County volunteering ought to be on the same footing—unpaid and genuine. ‘No cricketer no corps. No corps no cricketer’ was his watchword. There was a row among the pro’s at first, but C. B. won, and later the League had to come in. They said at first it would ruin the gate; but when County matches began to be _pukka_ county, _plus_ inter-regimental, affairs the gate trebled, and as two-thirds of the gate goes to the regiments supplying the teams some Volunteer corps fairly wallow in cash. It’s all unofficial, of course, but League Corps, as they call ’em, can take their pick of the Second Camper. Some corps ask ten guineas entrance-fee, and get it too, from the young bloods that want to shine in the arena. I told you we catered for all tastes. Now, as regards the Line proper, I believe the young artisan and mechanic puts in for that before he marries. He likes the two-months’ ‘heef’ in his first year, and five bob a week is something to go on with between times.” “Do they follow their trade while they’re in the Line?” I demanded. “Why not? How many well-paid artisans work more than four days a week anyhow? Remember a Linesman hasn’t to be drilled in your sense of the word. He must have had at least eight years’ grounding in that, as well as two or three years in his Volunteer battalion. He can sleep where he pleases. He can’t leave town-limits without reporting himself, of course, but he can get leave if he wants it. He’s on duty two days in the week as a rule, and he’s liable to be invited out for garrison duty down the Mediterranean, but his benefit societies will insure him against that. I’ll tell you about that later. If it’s a hard winter and trade’s slack, a lot of the bachelors are taken into the I. G. barracks (while the I. G. is out on the heef) for theoretical instruction. Oh, I assure you the Line hasn’t half a bad time of it.” “Amazing!” I murmured. “And what about the others?” “The Volunteers? Observe the beauty of our system. We’re a free people. We get up and slay the man who says we aren’t. But as a little detail we never mention, if we don’t volunteer in some corps or another—as combatants if we’re fit, as non-combatants, if we ain’t—till we’re thirty-five we don’t vote, and we don’t get poor-relief, and the women don’t love us.” “Oh, that’s the compulsion of it?” said I.