Whoever makes the speech, and whatever else he puts in it, the refrain is always: "One hundred days to June!" I think I never knew but one exception; and I missed the old words then; but this night they were in full force. Yet the speech was in some ways as unlike most others as he himself was different from many men. Strong, tall, square shouldered, both mentally and physically, Cadet Trueman no more thought of turning a stone wall, or dodging a river, than if they had been pebbles and rivulets. Which way he ought to go, that way he went; the only sort of a steeplechase in which no man comes to grief. Not a brilliant man, but a diligent; "hard work and hard praying" had brought him nobly through. Trueman stood high, wore high chevrons, and knew less (experimentally) of the area of barracks than any man in his class. No ladies' man, as you might guess; although the chevrons, or something, won him many admiring looks. But if ever you met Mr. Trueman meandering round Flirtation with a girl, you might be sure it was a case of philanthropy, pure and simple, and that the damsel was on his hands by no volition of his own. And he never asked for the further favour of a walk after chapel, or on O. G. P. He always acquitted himself well on such occasions, but that was the last of it; and he joyfully slid back among the bachelors again. And now, as he came forward and bowed to the expectant throng, no thought of any--or all--the bright eyes in the room made his pulse one throb the quicker. He had stir enough, in the mere heading of his speech: "One hundred days to June!" "Who is that?" whispered a stylish new girl for whom Magnus Kindred played cavalier. "Fort Put. In moments of deepest affection, 'Old Put.'" "How absurd you cadets always are! Wherefore do you call him that?" "Only thing in the neighbourhood like him. Crownest is a trifle large for even his inches." The girl looked indignant, as if she thought Magnus was fooling her; but then the speech began. Happy for you, perhaps, that no complete copy has come to my hands; you are spared the danger of being even asked to read it. But the last sentences so fixed themselves in Magnus Kindred's mind that he sent them off to Cherry next day, word for word. And of course I have unlimited control of the correspondence. "Ladies and Gentlemen" figured politely in the opening words, but Cadet True soon forgot them; looking clean across the gay flower garden in front to the grey mass behind: the vivid, eager, forceful lives hid away beneath those trim dress coats. "One hundred days to June! To freedom, to power, to Life! Men of 18--, shall your freedom be liberty or license? your power sworn in for good, or for evil? Shall life be a failure--or a success? The names that rank highest to-day, will they keep their proud position? The names that stand lower, will they show the world what they could have done here, but for Wave Motion and Spanish?"