garrison at South La Tir that he had once commanded, was marching
through the main avenue. Youths all, of twenty-one or two, they were in
a muddy-grayish uniform which was the color of the plain as seen from
the veranda of the Galland house.

Around them, in a mighty, pervasive monotone, was the roar of city
traffic, broken by the nearer sounds of the cries of children playing in
the sand piles, the bark of motor horns, the screech of small boys'
velocipedes on the paths of the park; while they themselves were silent,
except for the rhythmic tramp of the military shoes of identical
pattern, as was every article of their clothing and equipment from head
to foot, whose character had been the subject of the weightiest
deliberation of the staff.

How much can a soldier carry and how best carry it easily? What shoes
are the most serviceable for marching and yet cheap? Nothing was so
precise in all their surroundings, nothing seemed so resolutely
dependable as this column of soldiers. They were the last word in
filling human tissue into a mould for a set task. Where these came from
were other boys growing up to take their places. The mothers of the
nation were doing their duty. All the land was a breeding-ground for the
dividends of Hedworth Westerling.

At the far side of the park he saw another kind of dividend--another
group of marching men. These were not in uniform. They were the
unemployed. Many were middle-aged, with worn, tired faces. Beside the
flag of the country at the head of the procession was that of universal
radicalism. And his car had to stop to let them pass. For an instant the
indignation of military autocracy rose strong within him at sight of the
national colors in such company. But he noted how naturally the men kept