ion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long before
noon, but his enthusiasm was merely focused not diminished.

He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his 'skipper,' that is to say,
the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art and
mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession of
Arms.

'If you haven't a taste that way,' said Revere between his puffs of
his cheroot, 'you'll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember,
Bobby, 't isn't the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, that
hauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the other side. It's the man
who knows how to handle men goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.'

'Dormer, for instance,' said Bobby, 'I think he comes under the head of
fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.'

'That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool yet,
but he's a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his
socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes
into a corner and growls.'

'How do you know?' said Bobby admiringly.

'Because a Company commander has to know these things because, if he
does not know, he may have crime ay, murder brewing under his very nose
and yet not see that it's there. Dormer is being badgered out of his
mind big as he is and he hasn't intellect enough to resent it. He's
taken to quiet boozing, and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the
drink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull him
out of himself.'

'What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men for ever.'

'No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You've
got to--'

Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby reflected for a
while as Revere looked through the Company forms.

'Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?' Bobby asked with the air of one
continuing an interrupted conversation.

'No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,' said the Sergeant, who
delighted in long words. 'A dirty soldier and 'e's under full stoppages
for new kit. It's covered with scales, sir.'

'Scales? What scales?'

'Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an'
a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs.' Revere was still absorbed
in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby,
continued, ''E generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful,
beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say that the more lus