particularly. A moment he halted irresolutely between regimental canteen
and library; then, for some reason best known to himself, he steadily
ignored both, for the time being, and passing on began slowly to mount a
short flight of stairs at the end of the passage.

Sweet music beguiled each reluctant step of his ascent: the tinkle of a
piano accompaniment to a roaring jovial chorus from the canteen assuring
him with plaintive, but futile insistence just then, that--

_Beer, beer! was glorious beer, etc_.

Reaching the landing he paused for a space in an intent listening
attitude outside the closed door of a room marked No. 3. From within
came the sounds of men's voices raised in a high-pitched, gabbling
altercation.

Turning swiftly to an imaginary audience, his expressive young
countenance contorted into a grimace of unholy glee, the listener flung
aloft his arms and blithely executed a few noiseless steps of an
impromptu war-dance.

"They're at it again!" he muttered ecstatically.

Some seconds he capered thus in pantomime; then, as swiftly composing his
features into a mask-like expression, he turned the handle and entered.
On the big thermometer nailed outside the Orderly-room the mercury may
have registered anything between twenty and thirty below zero, but inside
Barrack-room No. 3 the temperature at that moment was warm enough.

Two men, seated at either end Of a long table in the centre of the room,