..
And, _Hey then up go we!_
THE ARMY OF A DREAM
PART I
I sat down in the club smoking-room to fill a pipe.
* * * * *
It was entirely natural that I should be talking to "Boy" Bayley. We had
met first, twenty odd years ago, at the Indian mess of the Tyneside
Tail-twisters. Our last meeting, I remembered, had been at the Mount
Nelson Hotel, which was by no means India, and there we had talked half
the night. Boy Bayley had gone up that week to the front, where I think
he stayed a long, long time.
But now he had come back.
"Are you still a Tynesider?" I asked.
"I command the Imperial Guard Battalion of the old regiment, my son," he
replied.
"Guard which? They've been Fusiliers since Fontenoy. Don't pull my leg,
Boy."
"I said Guard, not Guard-s. The I. G. Battalion of the Tail-twisters.
Does that make it any clearer?"
"Not in the least."
"Then come over to the mess and see for yourself. We aren't a step from
barracks. Keep on my right side. I'm--I'm a bit deaf on the near."
We left the club together and crossed the street to a vast four-storied
pile, which more resembled a Rowton lodging-house than a barrack. I could
see no sentry at the gates.
"There ain't any," said the Boy lightly. He led me into a many-tabled
restaurant full of civilians and grey-green uniforms. At one end of the
room, on a slightly raised dais, stood a big table.
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