The Seed of Empire by Fred M. White

It was a strange gathering. There was almost a touch of nightmare in it: it was like a fantasy of Stevenson's, a page from some modern Arabian Nights, and yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world. And when presently the motley gathering filed down the stairs, and turned in the semblance of a company into Kensington High-street nobody laughed, and a few people on the pavement stopped and cheered. Women waved their handkerchiefs, full of understanding, and indeed it did not need any vast intelligence to know that here were a handful of men anxious to do something for the flag. The man with the eyeglass disappeared for a moment into a shop and came back presently with his arms full of red, white, and blue ribbons, which he gravely handed out to the caddie squad, who as gravely put them in their caps. At the head of the procession walked the man with the eyeglass and his friend, together with Kemp and Bentley, as if they were doing the most natural thing in the world.

"By Gad, it's a sort of disease," the man with the eyeglass said. "Now, if anybody had asked me to do this a week ago, I wouldn't have said yes for a thousand pounds. And yet here am I at the head of all these chaps, and dashed proud of the chance. I tell you what, we'd better make a long march of this. If we'd only got a band, we'd gather the men by the hundred. A banner wouldn't be a bad wheeze!"