Now the sergeant was hard on clothing, and particularly on breeches. Also he had given one uniform to Watt, the cook. The single one he was able to produce was badly worn; so badly, indeed, that the camp inspector with his two hands tore the breeches apart, at a vital spot, and flung them on the floor. Something in Sergeant Gray’s breast seemed to tear also and sink to the floor. “Scrap this one also,” ordered the camp inspector. “Sir——” ventured Sergeant Gray desperately. But the camp inspector had discovered something, namely: That the issue uniforms of the Headquarters Troop of the ——th Division were of poor material. Slowly and carefully he went through the lot. Sharply and decisively, at the end, he gave his orders. [Illustration: “IF A MAN FROM THE HEADQUARTERS TROOP OVERSTAYS HIS LEAVE, WHAT HAPPENS TO HIM, UNCLE JIMMY?” _See page 76_] “Scrap every uniform in the troop,” he said, “and send this order to the camp quartermaster.” In ten minutes one hundred and ninety-five men stood to attention in their undergarments, and in the center of each squad room lay a great heap of discarded khaki. “Leaving us rather stripped, sir,” ventured the captain. “They’ve got their slickers,” curtly observed fate; “and the quartermaster will fix you up all right.” He went out. Jove, what a day for golf! “Sergeant!” called the captain. He avoided the baleful eyes of his men and looked out of a window. He was rather young and terribly afraid he would laugh. The supply sergeant, thus called, came forward and saluted. He was a queer figure in his woolens, and the captain coughed to recover his voice. “Put—put on your slicker,” he said, “and carry this order to the camp quartermaster. And hurry!” Now all the balance of this story rests on that order to hurry, for it came about that the supply sergeant, running, put his toe under the edge of a board and fell heavily, and a military policeman, discovering thus that the sergeant wore no breeches, placed him immediately under arrest. “Oh, very well,” said the supply sergeant politely; and put the order in his slicker pocket. If they chose to arrest a man for a thing he couldn’t help let them do it. He didn’t absolutely know what was in the order and if he could sit in the bull pen the troop could sit in its underwear. It was nothing whatever to him. He grinned malevolently, however, when he saw the captain and the two lieutenants of the troop leaving camp in a machine in the direction of the city. “All right,” he said to himself. “We’ll see something later, that’s all. The old boy will be crazy about this.” The old boy being the general. In the barracks black despair was in Sergeant Gray’s heart. He made a wild effort to retrieve his new uniform from the heap which was to be carried out and burned, but the troop were a unit against him. “Aw, keep still!” they said in effect. “You got us into this, and you’ll stick it out with us.”