months I never gave a thought to the possibility of my
becoming a soldier. I couldn't imagine myself with a rifle
and bayonet chasing Huns, or standing the rough-and-ready
life of the soldier, and the thought of blood was horrible.
I had worn glasses since I was a boy of twelve, and for
that reason, among others, I had not learnt the art of
self-defence where quickness of vision is half the battle.
From appearances and manners one would have ticketed me as a
Conscientious Objector. I thank God I had not _that_
conception of my duty to Him."

And so Sydney Baxter went on with his work. There was plenty to do.
Reservists had been called up. Opportunities of advancement were many.
Some must stay and "keep the home fires burning." You know all the
arguments, all the self-justification of those days. His chance had
undoubtedly arrived. He was badly needed in the office. You shall read
his own confession.

"It was well into October before I realised the Call to Arms
was a personal one, and that the Hun was not so easily to be
beaten. The treatment of the Belgians hit me very hard, and,
but for my home circumstances, I should have donned khaki
straight away. My position was just this. My father had died
some few months before, and left to my care my mother and my
sister. Their protection was my solemn charge--there was no
doubt about it in my mind. And yet, what was my duty? To
fight--or to stay and look after our little home? It is a
problem that thousands of us young men have had to wrestle
with, and for several days I wrestled with it alone. Mother
was purely neutral; she refused to influence me either way.