“We’re quieter as a rule,” said the Boy. “But we’re filling up vacancies to-day. Hence the anxious faces of the Line and Militia. Look!” There were four tables against the walls, and at each stood a crowd of uniforms. The centres of disturbance were noncommissioned officers who, seated, growled and wrote down names. “Come to my table,” said Burgard. “Well, Purvis, have you ear-marked our little lot?” “I’ve been tellin’ ’em for the last hour we’ve only twenty-three vacancies,” was the sergeant’s answer. “I’ve taken nearly fifty for Trials, and this is what’s left.” Burgard smiled. “I’m very sorry,” he said to the crowd, “but C Company’s full.” “Excuse me, Sir,” said a man, “but wouldn’t sea-time count in my favour? I’ve put in three months with the Fleet. Small quick-firers, Sir? Company guns? Any sort of light machinery?” “Come away,” said a voice behind. “They’ve chucked the best farrier between Hull and Dewsbury. Think they’ll take _you_ an’ your potty quick-firers?” The speaker turned on his heel and swore. “Oh, damn the Guard, by all means!” said Sergeant Purvis, collecting his papers. “D’you suppose it’s any pleasure to _me_ to reject chaps of your build and make? Vote us a second Guard battalion and we’ll accommodate you. Now, you can come into Schools and watch Trials if you like.” Most of the men accepted his invitation, but a few walked away angrily. I followed from the smoking-room across a wide corridor into a riding-school, under whose roof the voices of the few hundred assembled wandered in lost echoes. “I’ll leave you, if you don’t mind,” said Burgard. “Company officers aren’t supposed to assist at these games. Here, Matthews!” He called to a private and put me in his charge. In the centre of the vast floor my astonished eyes beheld a group of stripped men; the pink of their bodies startling the tan. “These are our crowd,” said Matthews. “They’ve been vetted, an’ we’re putting ’em through their paces.” “They don’t look a bit like raw material,” I said. “No, we don’t use either raw men or raw meat for that matter in the Guard,” Matthews replied. “Life’s too short.” Purvis stepped forward and barked in the professional manner. It was physical drill of the most searching, checked only when he laid his hand over some man’s heart. Six or seven, I noticed, were sent back at this stage of the game. Then a cry went up from a group of privates standing near the line of contorted figures. “White, Purvis, white! Number Nine is spitting white!” “I know it,” said Purvis. “Don’t you worry.” “Unfair!” murmured the man who understood quick-firers. “If I couldn’t shape better than that I’d hire myself out to wheel a perambulator. He’s cooked.” “Nah,” said the intent Matthews. “He’ll answer to a month’s training like a horse. It’s only suet. _You’ve_ been training for this, haven’t you?” “Look at me,” said the man simply. “Yes. You’re overtrained,” was Matthews’ comment. “The Guard isn’t a circus.”