I must tell their
drill-hall. Look over yonder between that brewery chimney and the mansard
roof!"
He readdressed himself to the telephone, and I kept my eye on the building
to the southward. A Blue Peter climbed up to the top of the flagstaff that
crowned it and blew out in the summer breeze. A black storm-cone followed.
"Inspection for F.S. corps acknowledged, Sir," said Burgard down the
telephone. "Now we'd better go to the riding-school. The battalion falls
in there. I have to change, but you're free of the corps. Go anywhere. Ask
anything. In another ten minutes we're off."
I lingered for a little looking over the great city, its huddle of houses
and the great fringe of the Park, all framed between the open windows of
this dial-dotted eyrie.
When I descended the halls and corridors were as hushed as they had been
noisy, and my feet echoed down the broad tiled staircases. On the third
floor, Matthews, gaitered and armed, overtook me smiling.
"I thought you might want a guide," said he. "We've five minutes yet," and
piloted me to the sunsplashed gloom of the riding-school. Three companies
were in close order on the tan. They moved out at a whistle, and as I
followed in their rear I was overtaken by Pigeon on a rough black mare.
"Wait a bit," he said, "till the horses are all out of stables, and come
with us. D Company is the only one mounted just now. We do it to amuse the
taxpayer," he explained, above the noise of horses on the tan.
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