'You're Private Henry Tomkins of the 12th Gloucesters, and you'll find your clothes ready for you.

I'll send on your present togs if you give me an address.' I did as I was bid, and presently emerged in the uniform of a British private, complete down to the shapeless boots and the dropsical puttees.

Then my friend took me in hand and finished the transformation.

He started on my hair with scissors and arranged a lock which, when well oiled, curled over my forehead.

My hands were hard and rough and only needed some grubbiness and hacking about the nails to pass muster.