Recruits, I read, are flocking to the colours. In fact
the flocking season has begun. This is how one of them flocked, thirty-six hours after the announcement about doub- ling the Territorials was made. Having a free afternoon (X. tells me), I made my way to the nearest Territorial head- quarters and inquired for the recruiting office. Actually there wasn't any recruiting office, but I succeeded in interviewing two military gentlemen, who unfortunately could do nothing for me ; but if I could go to the regiment's drill hall at Shep- herd's Bush that evening, I might have better luck. I was unfortunately engaged that evening ; but, undeterred, I took a 'bus to another barracks in a different part of London. Here a cloistral calm prevailed in the deserted halls; I waited a few moments, penetrated into various empty rooms, and at length found another military gentleman, wearing the same fair moustache and check suit which appears to be the uni- form of the officers of the British Army. " Could I enlist in thl Territorials? " I asked with some diffidence. " Well—ah —you see, there's nobody here now, you know. Could you wait a couple of hours? Sure to be someone here then." Unfortunately I couldn't wait. Finally a sergeant was dis- covered. " Well, we can't do anything at the moment. Could you come back to-morrow morning? " On the following morning, conscious of being a bore and a nuisance, I re- presented myself. " Well, you see, we can't do anything till after Easter, but you'll certainly get a letter from us then." What is recruiting like in ordinary quiet times?
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