The interior of the armouries was so dark that until Mauney’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he paused, unable to see the queue of civilians who were standing in line in front of a frosted-glass door. He then made his way over the flag-stones and took up his position in the rear. From a skylight in the high roof a beam of light fell through the dusty air of the big room and, striking in a huge square pattern on the centre of the floor, revealed two teams of horses dragging a field-gun down the middle of the drill-space. The rattle and din, increased by the shouted commands of some visible officers, were so deafening that Mauney did not notice the frosted-glass door open to receive six of his companions. He moved up and patiently waited his turn. At last his time came and he entered with five of his fellow recruits.
In the meantime Snowball sat on the edge of a green box at the entrance, smoking his pipe. The sergeant who had so leniently granted him permission to remain was at a short distance, tête-a-tête with a second sergeant who wore a dangle of white, red and green ribbons from the peak of his cap. The first sergeant pointed toward Snowball, made a gesture with his hands, at which the other nodded, and advanced toward the unsuspecting servant.
“Hello, my man,” said the sergeant, slapping Snowball genially on the back. “How old are you?”
“Forty-five or six,” he replied, looking up curiously.
“Stand up, won’t you?”
Snowball obeyed, rather dubiously.
“My word!” remarked the sergeant, feigning to be overcome with admiring surprise. “You’re a splendid specimen. Where did you get that chest?”
“I g-guess hard work done that,” he said, commencing to giggle.
“You’re just the kind of a man we’re looking for, sir,” said the sergeant, placing one hand on Snowball’s bosom and the other on his back. “Take a long breath.”
He inspired deeply, casting a sharp, doubtful glance at the sergeant.