That evening Bill and I went over to the One-Hundred-and-First Barracks, but there was nothing doing, as word had just come from Ottawa to stop recruiting. It was on the twenty-second of August, 1914, before the office was opened again, and on that day we took another shot at our luck.
The doctor gave me the "once over" while Bill stood outside.
"One inch too small around the chest," was the verdict.
"Oh, Doc, have a heart!"
"No," he said, "we have too many men now to be taking a little midget like you." That was disappointment number two. I walked out and reported to Bill, and I need not say that that loyal friend did not try to pass without me.
That night—August twenty-second—I slept very little. I had made up my mind that I was going to the war, and go I would, chest or no chest. Before morning I had evolved many plans and adopted one. I counted on my appearance to put me through. I am short and slight. I'm dark and curly-haired. I can pass for a Frenchman, an American, a Belgian; or at a pinch a Jew.
I had my story and my plan ready when the next day I set out to have another try. At twelve-thirty I was seated on Major Farquarhson's veranda where I would meet him and see him alone when he came home to lunch.
"Excuse me, Doctor," I said when he appeared, "but I'm sure you would pass me if you only knew my circumstances."
"Well?" snapped the major.
"You see, sir, my two brothers have been killed by the Germans in Belgium, and my mother and sisters are over there. I must go over to avenge them."