roduced to his second-in-command, and surprised
there that officer endeavouring to squeeze his rather middle-aged
figure within the buttoned limits of a subaltern's tunic. Since the
senior officers of Marines never go to sea, the Commandant's own
official uniform was the field-service khaki of a Staff officer. "It
is all right," explained he, laughing. "I have become a lieutenant
again, and am going north with you. But I wish that your friend the
mess-sergeant had a pattern B tunic which would meet round my middle.
My young men must be devilish slim nowadays. I have been on to the
A.-G. by 'phone. He pretends to be derisory, but I am convinced that
really he is desperately jealous. He would love to go too. You seem,
my good Dawson, to have stirred up Whitehall and Spring Gardens in a
manner most emphatic."

"But you can't serve under me, sir," cried Dawson, aghast.

"Can't I!" retorted the new Lieutenant. "If admirals can joyfully go
afloat as lieut.-commanders, as lots of them are doing, what is to
prevent a Colonel of Marines serving as a subaltern? I am on this job
with you, Dawson, if you will have me."

"With four sergeants and eighty Marines," said Dawson slowly, "you and
I could have held Mons."

"We could that," cried the Colonel-Lieutenant, who had by now
completed the reduction of his rank to that of Captain Dawson's
subordinate. "Nothing, nothing, is beyond the powers of the Sea
Regiment!"

At about 11.30 that night the wide roof of St. Pancras echoed to the
disciplined tramp of Dawson's detachment, which marched straight to
coaches reserved by order from Headquarters. "Marines don't talk,"
said Dawson, "but I am not taking risks. I don't want to sully the
virtue of my old Sea Pongos by mixing them up with raw land Tommies."
Dawson and his subaltern were moving towards the sleeping-coach in
which a double berth had been assigned to them, when two tall
gentlemen in civilian dress slipped out of the crowd and stood in
their path. Dawson, at the sight of them, glowed with pride, his chest
swelled out under his broad blue tunic, and his hand flew to the peak
of his red-banded cap. The Colonel-Lieutenant gasped. "Good luck,
Dawson," whispered the bigger of the strangers; "I would give my baton
to be going north with you."

"Colonel ---- has given up his crowns," replied Dawson, as he
introduced his companion.

The Field-Marshal smiled and shook hands with the sporting Commandant.
"This is all frightfully