The facts were in their favour; the sublime law of supply and demand was in their favour.  If the suddenly unloosed military ardour had not been kept down it might have submerged the Island.  The tradesmen kept it down, and the Island was saved by them from militarization.  Majors and colonels and even generals had to flatter and cajole tradesmen.  As for lieutenants, they cringed.  And all officers were obliged to be grateful for the opportunity to acquire goods at prices fifty per cent higher than would have been charged to civilians.  Within a few days George, who had need of every obtainable sovereign for family purposes, had disbursed some forty pounds out of his own pocket in order to exercise the privilege of defending, at the risk of ruin and death, the ideals of his country.

At the end of the week what, as a civilian, he would have described as his first ‘suit’ had not been delivered, and he spent Saturday afternoon and Sunday in most uncomfortable apprehension of the telegraph-boy and in studying an artillery manual now known to hundreds of thousands as ‘F.A.T.’  On the Monday morning he collected such portions of his kit as had to be worn with the ‘suit’ (leggings, boots, spurs, cap, shirt, collar, etc.), and took them in a taxi to the tailor’s, intending to change there and emerge a soldier.  The clothes were not ready, but the tailor, intimidated by real violence, promised them for three o’clock.  At three o’clock they were still not ready, for buttons had to be altered on the breeches; another hour was needed.

George went to call at Lucas & Enwright’s.  That office seemed to function as usual, for Everard Lucas alone had left it for the profession of arms.  The factotum in the cubicle was a young man of the finest military age, and there were two other good ones in the clerks’ room, including a clerk just transferred from George’s own office.  And George thought of his own office, already shut up, and his glance was sardonic.  Mr. Enwright sat alone in the principals’ room, John Orgreave being abroad in London in pursuit of George’s two landlords—­the landlord of his house and the landlord of his office—­neither of whom had yet been brought to see that George’s caprice for a military career entitled him in the slightest degree to slip out of contracts remunerative to the sacred caste of landlords.  Lucas & Enwright had behaved handsomely to George, having taken everything over, assumed all responsibilities, and allotted to George more than a fair share of percentages.  And John Orgreave, who in his rough provincial way was an admirable negotiator, had voluntarily busied himself with the affair of the resilition of George’s leases.

“Not gone, then?” Mr. Enwright greeted him.  “Well, you’d better be going, or I shan’t get my chance of being Vice-President.”

“What do you mean?”

“Orgreave was at a committee at the Institute this morning.  It seems you might have been the next Vice, in spite of your tender years, if you’d stayed.  You’re becoming the rage, you know.”