ians of the plains.
In the Bush they had learned to fight, cook, scheme, and generally look
after themselves. Pioneers of the toughest kind. The type that has
made our Empire what it is to-day. In drink they were like savages,
ready to shoot the men they hated, ready to give a drunken embrace to
the men they liked and respected.

And few of them were fools. Many could rip off Shakespeare by the
yard; others could recite, in a feeling way, the best of Byron,
Tennyson, Kipling, and Burns. The lonely plains and self-communion had
given each a soul. Indeed, they were the oddest bunch of daring,
devilry, romance, and villainy that had ever gathered for war. For
such men there is only one type of leader, that is--the gentleman. Not
the gentleman who says, "Please," like a drawing-room lady; but the
gentleman who says, "Come on, boys--here's a job," in a kindly, but
firm manner, with that touch of authority in the words which spells the
master and the man, and reveals to the skunk that if he refuses a great
fist will crack right under his chin and lay him out. Sergeant-Major
Jones was, therefore, the gentleman required. He represented the
finest virtues of the British N.C.O.--a class which has made the
British Army what it is to-day, and a class meanly paid and shockingly
neglected by the Governments of the past.

Sergeant-Major Jones had a breast of medals. He knew his job. Now
that was important to these Australians. Australians are always up
against what they call "the imported man." But if the imported man is
what they call "a good fellow," and knows his job better than they do,
they are fair enough to shake him by the hand and call him "friend."
And the sergeant-major knew that he had to find an opportunity in the
first week to show that he _was_ the sergeant-major and that they were
there to be disciplined. The opportunity came on the third day. A
weak-looking sergeant, with a shrill, piping voice, was moving a squad
up and down.

"Left--rights-left---- Stop your talking, Private Grouse," he
shouted to a tall, burly-built and dour-looking man in his squad.

"Wot the deuce are you chippin' at?"

"Hold your tongue."

"Swank," replied the insolent man.

Sergeant-Major Jones heard him. "Halt!" he bellowed to the squad.

"Now, young fellow, what do you mean?"

"Just 'aving a little lark, major," he answered casually.

"Stand to attention, and 'sir' me when you speak."

"You'll make us laugh,"