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'What's up with you this morning? Feeling chippy? 'No. No, I'm all right. I'm in a beastly hole though. I wanted to talk to you about it. 'Weigh in, then. We've got plenty of time before school. 'It's about this Aldershot business. How on earth did you manage to lick Allen like that? I thought he was a cert. 'Yes, so did I. The 'ole thing there, as Dawkins 'ud say, was, I knocked him out.
Vicky, a year older than Sanchia, had married a Captain Sinclair, who was stationed at Aldershot. She had been the romp of former days and, when the storm had burst, hotly on the culprit's side. But Vicky had been flighty, and marriage changes one. Sanchia's eyes grew wistful as she sat, her letters on the wing, and thought of Vicky.
Mark would have liked to ask him about life in the Aldershot priory; perhaps if Brother Anselm had been less taciturn, he would have broken if not the letter at any rate the spirit of the Rule by begging the senior to ask for his services in the Priory.
At the harmonium presided Bandsman Harrison, of the Northamptons, who for the last two years has helped ever so well at the Sunday afternoon services of sacred song in Aldershot.
If he were still in Aldershot it should not be a very difficult matter. There are not such a very great number of civilians, and a deformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a day in the search, and by evening this very evening, Watson I had run him down. The man's name is Henry Wood, and he lives in lodgings in this same street in which the ladies met him.
The palace was very sumptuous and beautiful, just what a palace ought to be; and we were met by a stately lady, rather more grownup than the Princess apparently her mother. My friend the Man was very kind, and introduced me as the Captain, saying I had just run down from Aldershot. I didn't know where Aldershot was, but had no manner of doubt that he was perfectly right.
"You'd better be polite to Sheen," said Linton; "he won the Light-Weights at Aldershot yesterday." The silence once more became strained. "Well," said Sheen, "weren't you going to court-martial me, or something? Clayton, weren't you saying something?" Clayton started.
The air was full of fare-wells, and the parting word in too many cases could only be spoken over the intoxicating cup. It was a rough-and-tumble time. Aldershot was full of men who in recent years had been unaccustomed to the discipline and exactitude of Her Majesty's Army, and the wonder is that things were not worse than they were. Let us look into one of the barrack rooms.
One seemed to be no nearer the war there than in London or Manchester. Troops marched to the station and disappeared into the night; so they did at home. There were hospitals there, filled with wounded men; none so large or so full as Netley. There was a big camp there; not so big a camp as Aldershot.
A scholarship at Oxford at one of the smaller colleges, a creditable degree, then an opening in the office of a well-known firm of solicitors, friends of his father, and a temporary commission, as soon as war broke out, on his record as a keen and diligent member of the Harrow and Oxford O.T.C.'s: these had been the chief facts of his life up to August 1914; that August which covered the roads leading to the Aldershot headquarters, day by day, with the ever-renewed columns of the army to be, with masses of marching men, whose eager eyes said one thing only 'Training! training!
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