Here was "Jack" marching down the middle of the road in the panoply of
the Guards, while "Dick" his superior during six long years at Rugby,
was hurrying along the pavement, perhaps nearing the brink of that gulf
already reached by the Vauxhall processionists.
So Dick Royson's placid temper was again ruffled, and he might have
said nasty things about Fate had not that erratic dame suddenly
thought, fit to alter his fortunes. As the street narrowed between
lofty buildings, so did the blaring thunder of the music increase. The
mob closed in on the soldiers' heels; the whole roadway was packed with
moving men. A somber flood of humanity--topped by the drumsticks, the
flag, the glistening bayonets and the bearskins--it seemingly engulfed
all else in its path. The sparkle of the band, intensified by the
quick, measured tramp of the soldiers, aroused a furtive enthusiasm.
Old men, bearded and bent, men whom one would never suspect of having
borne arms, straightened themselves, stood to attention, and saluted
the swaying flag.
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