"Sure, I am going. Where will I meet you?"

We arranged to meet at the exhibition ground and, taking French leave of
the office, I hastened to the camp where the recruiting was going on,
picking up Burt on the way.

It was as if a baseball championship series were on; the crowd
good-naturedly swayed and jammed as each man struggled to get to the
door and signed up before the quota was full. With only the loss of a
hat and some slight disarrangement of my collar and tie, I was one of
the lucky ones.

And we were lucky! Although visions of lands to be seen and adventures
to be had flitted rapidly through my mind, and although I believe none
of us on that day dreamed of what we were getting into, yet, looking
back over it all, I would not have missed my place in Canada's First
Division for anything I ever hope to have on earth.

In two hours I was in khaki and in another hour I had bade the folks
farewell and was standing on the station platform waiting for the train
that would take us to Valcartier, the greatest gathering place of
soldiers that Canada has ever known.

Some idea of my knowledge of things military may be gleaned from the
following:--chatting with Burt, he suddenly espied a large car, with two
girls, shooting up the street to the station, and called my attention to
it. One of the girls was my sister. I immediately scented trouble. I
skipped across to the other side of the depot, intending to board the
train from the other side when it came in; I was not going to have my
soldiering interfered with if I could help it. Standing in the shelter