Above the tall bearskins and glittering bayonets he caught the flourish
of energetic drumsticks. The big drum gave forth its clamor with
window-shaking insistence; it seemed to be the summons of power that
all else should stand aside. On they came, these spruce Guards, each
man a marching machine, trained to strut and pose exactly as his
fellows. There was a sense of omnipotence in their rhythmic movement.
And they all had the grand manner--from the elegant captain in command
down to the smallest drummer-boy. Although the sun was shining brightly
now, the earlier rain and hint of winter in the air had clothed all
ranks in dark gray great-coats and brown leggings. Hence, to the
untrained glance, they were singularly alike. Officers, sergeants,
privates and bandsmen might have been cast in molds, after the style of
toy soldiers. There were exceptions, of course, just as the fat man
achieved distinction among the unemployed. The crimson sashes of the
officers, the drum-major, with his twirling staff, the white apron of
the big drummer, drew the eye. A slim subaltern, carrying the
regimental color, held pride of place in the picture. The rich hues of
the silk lent a barbaric splendor to his sober trappings. And he took
himself seriously. A good-looking lad, with smooth contours not yet
hardened to the military type, his face had in it a set gravity which
proclaimed that he would bear that flag whithersoever his country's
need demanded. And it was good to see him so intent on the mere charge
of it in transit between Chelsea Barracks and the Guard-room at St.
James's Palace. That argued earnestness, an excellent thing, even in
the Household Brigade.

Royson was amusing himself with the contrast between the two types of
banner-bearers he had gazed at in the short space of five minutes--he
was specially tickled by the fact that the Guards, also, were under