He got in. She had been rather reserved coming down, but now she was more talkative. His little remark about being hungry for some one to talk to had struck home. Her brother had said something like that once. They must get hungry for girls, nice girls. So now she chattered and she drew from the tall boy beside her something about himself. It was not particularly hard to do. Sergeant Gray opened up like a flower in the sun. He explained, for instance, that he was to have a commission when he was twenty-one. “Unless,” he admitted, “I’m in too bad with the Old Man.” “The Old Man?” “The general,” explained Sergeant Gray, unaware that the young lady was sitting very straight. “He’s hell—he’s strong for discipline, and all that. And—well, every now and then I slip up on something, and he gets me. It’s always me he gets,” he finished plaintively and ungrammatically. “But you shouldn’t do things that are wrong.” Sergeant Gray pondered this amazing statement. “Perhaps you’re right,” he acknowledged. “I hadn’t thought of that.” “You might try being terribly well behaved for—well, for twenty-four hours.” “Do you want me to?” “It’s entirely a matter of your own good,” she said rather coldly. “I’ll do it!” said Sergeant Gray rashly. “Not a misstep for twenty-four hours. How’s that?” “It sounds well.” “The truth is,” confided Sergeant Gray, “I’ve got to be good. He’s watching. He told me so.” “And if you’re not——” “Shot against a brick wall probably.” He grinned cheerfully. “Think of that hanging over a fellow, and twenty-three and a half hours’ leave to-morrow.” “I hope,” she said in the motherly tone she assumed now and then, “that you are going to be awfully careful to-morrow.” “Did you ever see a cat crossing a wet gutter? Well, that’s me to-morrow. This is no time to take any chances.” At which probably those particular gods that had Sergeant Gray in their keeping laughed behind their hands. The girl stopped the car at the camp, and the plaything of destiny descended. “Thank you, awfully,” observed the said plaything with a considerable amount of warmth in his voice. “I—perhaps I shall not see you again.” “I was just thinking—what time does your leave commence to-morrow?” “At ten-thirty”—hopefully. “I might pick you up then and take you to the trolley.” “Honestly, would you?” he asked delightedly. “You know, I—really, I can’t tell you how grateful I would be.” “I love to make the taxi men wriggle,” was her rather unsatisfactory reply. “I’ll be here, then. Good night.” Sergeant Gray saluted and went away. To all appearances he was a rather overgrown young man trudging through the mud of a not too-tidy camp to a barracks that needed carbolising. Actually he was a sublimated being favoured of heaven and floating in a rosy cloud of dreams. “Halt!” said a guard, and threw his rifle to port arms. “Who’s there?” “Sergeant of the Headquarters Troop,” said the superman. “Where’s your pass?”