state, some fifty of us forming a Guard of Honour. It was a
splendid building--its greatest attraction the billiard
tables. Night after night we waited our turn for a game. At
the long counter were a library and post office; the latter
was most useful, for a letter could be written and posted
without any delay whatever. Refreshments were, as usual,
obtained at any time. There was not the slightest fuss;
anyone could enter and do exactly as he wished. There is a
genuine Y.M. atmosphere which makes a fellow feel 'at home.'
It says, 'We are here because we feel we are "kind of
wanted" here for your individual comfort: this is _your
show_, and we are happy and anxious to do all we can for
you. Come at any time and bring all your chums.'"

Sydney Baxter's chief saw him once or twice during these camp days.
And he marvelled. The spectacles had gone. The lank, round-shouldered
figure had filled and straightened. Suddenly a man had been born. A
soldier, too. This fellow of the pen and ledger, this very type of the
British clerk who had never handled a rifle in his life and didn't
know the smell of powder from eau de Cologne, who had never
experienced anything of hardship or even discomfort; whose outlook in
life had hitherto never stretched beyond a higher seat at the office
desk, to whom the great passions of life were a sealed book--this
fellow passed his shooting and other tests in record time.

He was in France within sixteen weeks of joining the army.

Those were very dark days in England, but the sight of this one young
man cheered the chief. We were arrayed in battle against men who had
been trained through all the years of their manhood, the whole course