Bayley inclined his head gravely. “That, Sir, is the compulsion. We voted the legal part of it ourselves in a fit of panic, and we have not yet rescinded our resolution. The women attend to the unofficial penalties. But being free British citizens——” “_And_ snobs,” put in Pigeon. “The point is well taken, Pij———we have supplied ourselves with every sort and shape and make of Volunteer corps that you can imagine, and we’ve mixed the whole show up with our Odd Fellows and our I.O.G.T.’s and our Buffaloes, and our Burkes and our Debretts, not to mention Leagues and Athletic Clubs, till you can’t tell t’other from which. You remember the young pup who used to look on soldiering as a favour done to his ungrateful country—the gun-poking, ferret-pettin’, landed gentleman’s offspring—the suckin’ Facey Romford? Well, he generally joins a Foreign Service Corps when he leaves college.” “Can Volunteers go foreign, then?” “Can’t they just, if their C.O. _or_ his wife has influence! The Armity will always send a well-connected F.S. corps out to help a guard battalion in a small campaign. Otherwise F.S. corps make their own arrangements about camps. You see, the Military Areas are always open. They can ‘heef’ there (and gamble on head-money) as long as their finances run to it; or they can apply to do sea-time in the ships. It’s a cheap way for a young man to see the world, and if he’s any good he can try to get into the Guard later.” “The main point,” said Pigeon, “is that F.S. corps are ‘swagger’—the correct thing. It ’ud never do to be drawn for the Militia, don’t you know,” he drawled, trying to render the English voice.