“Been here since nine o’clock this morning,” said Henderson, “and haven’t had a blessed thing to eat except two water biscuits. What’s the row all about? That’s what I can’t make out.”
“Oh! It’s quite simple,” said Bob. “Our side wants to hold a meeting—”
“You are on a side then, are you?”
“Of course I am,” said Bob. “I’m in command of a company of volunteers. We don’t run to khaki uniforms and brass buttons, but we’ve got guns all right.”
“I say,” said Henderson, “tell me this now. Any chance of a scrap? Real fighting, you know? I’ve been asking all sorts of fellows, and nobody seems to be able to say for certain.”
“We shan’t begin it,” said Bob; “but, of course, if you get prodding at us with those spikes you have at the end of your guns—”
“There are a lot of fellows in this town that would be all the better of being prodded. Every porter that walks along the platform spits when he passes us in a damned offensive way. You would think they were looking for trouble.”
The crowd round the luggage van cleared away a little and we found Marion’s trunk. Bob handed it over to a porter and we joined Marion in the motor car.
The scene outside the station was striking. A considerable body of dragoons, some mounted, some on foot beside their horses, were grouped together near the great gate which led into the railway company’s yard. Their accoutrements and the bridles of their horses jangled at every movement in a way very suggestive of military ardour. The trappings of horse soldiers are evidently made as noisy as possible. Perhaps with the idea of keeping up the spirits of the men. Some Highlanders, complete in their kilts, stood opposite the dragoons at the other end of the yard. A sergeant was shouting explosive monosyllables at them in order to make them turn to the left or to the right as he thought desirable. Behind them were some other soldiers, Englishmen I presume, who wore ordinary trousers. They were sitting on a flight of stone steps eating chunks of dry bread. Their rifles were neatly stacked behind them. Round the motor car were about thirty men whom I hesitate to call civilians, because they had rifles in their hands; but who were certainly not real soldiers, for they had no uniforms. They looked to me like young farmers.
“My fellows,” said Bob, pointing to these men. “Pretty tidy looking lot, aren’t they? I brought them along as a sort of guard of honour for Marion. They’re not really the least necessary; but I thought you and she might be pleased to see them.”