do at all at all among them outlandish
spalpeens with their bare legs; Tilly wouldn't like it," he added
modestly.

"Pshaw! Everybody knows that half the Highland regiments in the
British Army are Irish. Enlist first and you can get married after.
Every girl admires the khaki, eh, Miss Holmes?"

Tilly was hanging on to the counter by this time, too far gone to be
able to enlighten the Major as to the truth, while her father was
standing with a bunch of letters in his hand, a pleased smile on his
face. Nobody minded Duke's nonsense and he dearly loved to see these
city fellows taken down a button hole or two.

"No sir," cried Duke firmly, "no Highland Battalion for me. I'm goin'
over wearin' o' the Grane or nothing at all. Besides my Bittalion
ain't goin' yet for a while. I was askin' some of them high-up
officers in Algonquin and they were tellin' me not to be in any hurry.
You see," he added confidingly, "it's this way. You can get
transferred. If you're in a Bittalion that's goin' over you get
transferred to another, and when it goes you get transferred again. I
can let you in on the thing if you'd like to know how they do it," he
added with ingratiating generosity.

The Major's face flamed hot. It was no secret that he had been going
through the transferring process. Red anger leaped into his eyes.

"Aw, what's the matter with you?" he asked, dropping his suave manner
and becoming abusive. "Are you one of those yellow-livered chaps
that's got chronic cold feet?"

"Well," said Marmaduke ingenuously, "it ain't quite so bad as that.
I've got one cold foot though, but I s'pose that wouldn't keep me out.
I guess a wooden leg wouldn't matter any more than a wooden head would
it?" And straight in the air he held his peg leg up to view.

The long pent up amusement of the audience burst forth. The two old
enemies across the stove broke into a simultaneous upheaval, a
disturbance that filled up the breach between them with the loose earth
of laughter. Mr. Holmes dropped his letters and chuckled loudly, and
as for Tilly, she was past giggling, she fairly shouted.

The Major turned and walked out, his face white with anger.

"He's gone to get transferred to the Five-Hundredth," declared Timothy
O'Toole joyfully. "I hear that Canada's goin' to send over Five
Hundred Battalions and he'll be all ready for the last one."

"Ah, Duke, Duke, you're a rascal," said Mr. Holmes reprovingly.

"It's the only fu