So I tell them to make for the Police Station there and I'll 'phone through and ask for a guide to show them the rest of the journey. I think this is a very good idea because if a bobby goes with them on the running-board it will give a more official look to the party.

The driver lets in the clutch, there's a rousing cheer from friend Morse, and away they roar down the hot, narrow street. As they round the corner into the main road, I catch a glimpse of old Morse and his rifle leaning out of the side window taking aim at the dog which is still with them and legging it as hard as he can go alongside the car, and the armed party is lost to view.

The Local Defence Volunteer Corps, or, anyhow, part of it, has gone into action.

I returned to my office and it seemed very quiet and peaceful after the bustle and excitement of war. I thought perhaps the Zone Commander would like to know how things were progressing, so I put in a call. He seemed very pleased and told me it was a good show.

So I lighted a cigarette and tried to cool off a bit.

I got to thinking of this and that and one thing or another. I wondered whether it would be a good idea to transfer to some unit about 120 miles from an aerodrome. These armed parties may be in frequent request and interfere with my time.

I wondered how our braves were getting on and whether they were in action, and whether friend Morse had shot himself or the driver or probably somebody's prize Wyandotte.

I also spent a very pleasant hour or so doing drawings on my blotter, which is a thing I am very partial to when I am busy with other matters.

About 6 o'clock the telephone starts up. It is the Staff Captain at Zone,

He says: "You remember an armed party which you sent out a few hours ago?"

I tell him that I most certainly do.