Eventually he obtained a commission in the Army Service Corps. He was very proud to don the King's uniform. On April 15 he reported himself for duty at a home port which is the principal centre of supply for our armies abroad. There he remained for over three months. As his nature was in taking up any work, he got absorbed in his new duties, and, I am informed, executed them with the utmost efficiency. To keep himself physically fit he gave some of his leisure to golf and to long walks, some days tramping twenty miles and more. Looking forward impatiently to the prospect of going abroad, he used to worry himself by the thought that he, an athlete, had no more useful work to do than to superintend the unloading of railway trucks and the loading of vessels and seeing that supplies were up to specification. At Whitsuntide his mother, brother and I spent a week-end in the vicinity of the port where he was employed. One day we visited a little country town, where he had arranged to join us after his duty was done. Near to the town was a huge camp, also a hospital for wounded soldiers. We met Paul on his arrival by train and walked with him to the hotel. On the way he was kept busy acknowledging the salutes of soldiers who passed us. At tea he was grave and preoccupied--for him a most unusual mood. I rallied him on it, and asked whether he was in trouble with his C.O. "Certainly not," was his reply, "I get on excellently with the Colonel." Then a moment or two later he exclaimed with emotion, "Dad, I simply can't stand it." "Stand what!" I exclaimed. "I can't stand receiving the salutes of men who have fought or are going out to fight while I spend my time about wharves and warehouses." As he spoke his eyes filled with tears. To appease him was not easy. This outburst was indicative of something more than a fugitive mood.