“I went down entirely on my own.  I was at that time a very reserved chap, and I had misgivings as to the probability of making chums.  I shared my room with a young Frenchman, who fortunately could speak English quite well, and thus we were saved embarrassing silence and aloofness.

“Tea gong sounded, and as we made our way into the passage we were literally carried along in the stream of young men, newcomers in their lounge suits, the others mostly in flannels.  On we swept, down the stairs into the large dining-hall.  Sit where you please, act as if you had been here all your life and treat everyone as an old pal, seemed to be the order of the day, and in that atmosphere it was impossible to feel anything but quite at home.  Before tea was over we new arrivals were infected with the same spirit of joviality, and were ready for the first ‘rag.’

“I was shown the house and grounds by an old boarder.  In addition to the lounge, writing and smoking-rooms, there was a dark-room for developing, a fully rigged ‘gym,’ and billiard-room; and so, in inclement weather, every amusement was at hand.  In the grounds were tennis courts and croquet lawns.

“Every week drives were arranged to the beauty-spots and historical places round about, but I appreciated most the facilities offered by a temporary membership of the boating club for the absurdly small sum of 3_s._ 6_d._ per week.  For this one could have a skiff or, if a party, a large boat, any day for any length of time, bathing costume and fishing tackle thrown in.  I took full advantage of this, and most mornings and afternoons were spent on the water.  We used to pull over to the obsolete battleships that lay in the stretch of water between us and the mainland.  Here we would tether up and turn the gangway into a diving platform.  Happy indeed were these days spent with companions who were in every sense of the word sportsmen and gentlemen.”

Sportsmen and gentlemen—­a new designation, perhaps, to some who have judged these Y.M.C.A. members by hearsay only.  It’s Sydney Baxter’s not mine.  And he ought to know well what the words mean after two years in a line regiment at the front.

One Young Man Joins the Army

CHAPTER II

ONE YOUNG MAN JOINS THE ARMY

Sydney Baxter was most decidedly getting on in business.  And then the war came.  I do not want you to have the impression that, at this time, he was one of those sturdy, strapping young fellows who gladly rushed into the ranks for the very joy of fighting.  There were thousands of them, I know, a glorious breed, but Sydney Baxter was not of that build.  So that there may be no mistake let me give his own words.  They are frank enough to be convincing.