The 128th had been recruited from a province in the high country distant from the capital.  In the days of Maria’s old baron, a baron of the same type had plundered their ancestors, and in the days of the first Galland they formed a principality frequently at war with their neighbors of the same blood and language.  At length they had united with their neighbors who had in turn united with other neighbors, forming the present nation of the Grays, which vented its fighting spirit against other nations.  Each generation must send forth its valorous and adventurous youth to the proof of its manhood in battle, while those who survived wounds and disease became the heroes of their reminiscences, inciting the younger generation to emulation.  With each step in the evolution learning had spread and civilization developed.

Since the last war universal conscription had gone hand in hand with popular education and the telegraphic click of the news of the world to all breakfast tables and cheap travel and better living.  Every private of the five millions was a scholar compared to the old baron; he had a broader horizon than the first Galland.  In the name of defence, to hold their borders secure, the great powers were straining their resources to strengthen the forces that kept an armed peace.  Evolution never ceases.  What next?

In a group of the members of Company B, who dropped on a bench in the barrack room, were the sons of a farmer, a barber, a butcher, an army officer, a day-laborer, a judge, a blacksmith, a rich man’s valet, a banker, a doctor, a manufacturer, and a small shopkeeper.

“Six months more and my tour is up!” cried the judge’s son.

“Six months more for me!”

“Now you’re counting!”

“And for me—­one, two, three, four, five, six!”

“Oh, don’t rub it in,” the manufacturer’s son shouted above the chorus, “you old fellows!  I’ve a year and six months more.”

“Here, too!” chimed in the banker’s son.  “A year and six months more of iron spoons and tin cups and army shoes and army fare and early rising.  Hep-hep-hep, drill-drill-drill, and drudgery!”

“Oh, I don’t know!” said the day-laborer’s son.  “I don’t have to get up any earlier than I do at home, and I don’t have to work as hard as I’ll have to when I leave.”

“Nor I!” agreed the blacksmith’s son.  “It’s a kind of holiday for me.”

“Holiday!” the banker’s son gasped.  “That’s so,” he added thoughtfully, and smiled gratefully over a fate that had been indulgent to him in a matter of fathers and limousines.

“Look at the newspapers!  Maybe we shall be going to war,” said the manufacturer’s son.

“Stuff!  Nonsense!” said the judge’s son.  “We are always having scares.  They sell papers and give the fellows at the Foreign Office a chance to look unconcerned.  But let’s have the opinion of an international expert, of the great and only philosopher, guide, companion, and friend.  What do you think of the crisis, eh, Hugo?  Soberly, now.  The fate of nations may hang on your words.  If not, at least the price of a ginger soda!”