Holmes sent me under cover a telegram
which she had received from her son. It was dispatched from
Aberdeen and ran: "Perfectly well. Don't worry about me. Love.
Randall." And that was all I heard of him for some considerable
time. What he was doing in Aberdeen, a city remote from his sphere
of intellectual, political, and social activities, Heaven and
himself alone knew. I must confess that I cared very little. He
was alive, he was well, and his mother had no cause for anxiety.
Phyllis had definitely sent him packing. There was no reason for
me to allow speculation concerning him to keep me awake of nights.
I had plenty to think about besides Randall. They made me Honorary
Treasurer of the local Volunteer Training Corps which had just
been formed. The members not in uniform wore a red brassard with
"G.R." in black. The facetious all over the country called them
"Gorgeous Wrecks." I must confess that on their first few parades
they did not look very military. Their composite paunchiness,
beardedness, scragginess, spectacledness, impressed me
unfavourably when, from my Hosea-carriage, I first beheld them.
Marigold, who was one of the first to join and to leap into the
grey uniform, tried to swagger about as an instructor.
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