hat his influence on the men against the evils which
were their especial snare was as the wind against the incoming tide,
beating in from the North Sea. He could make a ripple, a certain amount
of fussy noise, but the tide of temptation rolled steadily onward,
unchecked in its flow.

The old temptations to profanity, drink and lust, that had haunted the
soldiers' steps at home, were found to be lying in wait for them here
and in aggravated form. True, in the mess and in his presence among the
men there was less profanity than there had been at the first, but it
filled him with a kind of rage to feel that this change was due to no
sense of the evil of the habit, but solely to an unwillingness to give
offence to one whom many of them were coming to regard with respect and
some even with affection.

"I hate that," he said to the M. O., to whom he would occasionally
unburden his soul. "You'd think I was a kind of policeman over their
morals."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," said the M. O., to whom the habit of
profanity was a very venial sin. "You ought to be mighty glad that your
presence does act as a kind of moral prophylactic. And it does, I assure
you. I confess that since I have come to be associated with you, I am
conscious of a very real, and at times, distressing limitation of
my vocabulary. I may not be more virtuous, but certainly I am more
respectable."

This sentiment, however, brought little comfort to the chaplain.

"I am not a policeman," he protested, "and I am not going to play
policeman to these men. I notice them shut up when I come around, but I
know quite well that they turn themselves loose when I pass on, and
that they feel much more comfortable. I am not and will not be their
policeman."

"What then would you be?" inquired the M. O.

Barry pondered this question for some time.

"To tell the truth," he said, at length, "I confess, I don't quite
know. I wish I did, doc, on my soul. One thing I do know, the men are no
better here in their morals than they were at home."

"Better? They are worse, by Jove!" exclaimed the M. O. "Look at
the daily crime-sheet! Look at that daily orderly room parade. It's
something fierce, and it's getting worse."

"The wet canteen?" inquired Barry, who had lost prestige with some in
the battalion by reason of the strenuous fight he had made against its
introduction since coming to England. Not that the men cared so much
for their liquor, but they resented