I was up early and was directed to the place across the way where we were to eat.  It was labeled “Mother Wolf’s.  The Universal Provider.”  She provided just one meal of weak tea, moldy bread, and rancid bacon for me.  After that I went to a hotel.  I may remark in passing that horse tenders, going or coming or in between whiles, do not live on the fat of the land.

I spent the day—­it was Sunday—­seeing the sights of Whitechapel, Middlesex Street or Petticoat Lane, and some of the slums.  Next morning it was pretty clear to me that two pounds don’t go far in the big town.  I promptly boarded the first bus for Trafalgar Square.  The recruiting office was just down the road in Whitehall at the old Scotland Yard office.

I had an idea when I entered that recruiting office that the sergeant would receive me with open arms.  He didn’t.  Instead he looked me over with unqualified scorn and spat out, “Yank, ayen’t ye?”

And I in my innocence briefly answered, “Yep.”

“We ayen’t tykin’ no nootrals,” he said, with a sneer.  And then:  “Better go back to Hamerika and ’elp Wilson write ‘is blinkin’ notes.”

Well, I was mad enough to poke that sergeant in the eye.  But I didn’t.  I retired gracefully and with dignity.

At the door another sergeant hailed me, whispering behind his hand, “Hi sye, mytie.  Come around in the mornin’.  Hi’ll get ye in.”  And so it happened.

Next day my man was waiting and marched me boldly up to the same chap who had refused me the day before.

“’Ere’s a recroot for ye, Jim,” says my friend.

Jim never batted an eye.  He began to “awsk” questions and to fill out a blank.  When he got to the birthplace, my guide cut in and said, “Canada.”

The only place I knew in Canada was Campobello Island, a place where we camped one summer, and I gave that.  I don’t think that anything but rabbits was ever born on Campobello, but it went.  For that matter anything went.  I discovered afterward that the sergeant who had captured me on the street got five bob (shillings) for me.

The physical examination upstairs was elaborate.  They told me to strip, weighed me, and said I was fit.  After that I was taken in to an officer—­a real officer this time—­who made me put my hand on a Bible and say yes to an oath he rattled off.  Then he told me I was a member of the Royal Fusiliers, gave me two shillings, sixpence and ordered me to report at the Horse Guards Parade next day.  I was in the British army,—­just like that!

I spent the balance of the day seeing the sights of London, and incidentally spending my coin.  When I went around to the Horse Guards next morning, two hundred others, new rookies like myself, were waiting.  An officer gave me another two shillings, sixpence.  I began to think that if the money kept coming along at that rate the British army might turn out a good investment.  It didn’t.

That morning I was sent out to Hounslow Barracks, and three days later was transferred to Dover with twenty others.  I was at Dover a little more than two months and completed my training there.