s, unless
both had been inspired by the traditions of the Corps?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

KNOWING YOUR JOB

In one of his little-known passages, Robert Louis Stevenson did the
perfect portrait of the man who finally failed at everything, because
he just never learned how to take hold of his work.

It goes like this: "His career was one of unbroken shame. He did not
drink. He was exactly honest. He was never rude to his employers. Yet
he was everywhere discharged. Bringing no interest to his duties, he
brought no attention. His day was a tissue of things neglected and
things done amiss. And from place to place and from town to town he
carried the character of one thoroughly incompetent."

No one would say that the picture is overdrawn or that the poor devil
got other than his just deserts. In the summing up, the final judgment
that is put on a man by other men depends on his value as a working
hand. If he has other serious personality faults, they will be
overlooked as somewhat beside the point, provided that he levels with
his job. But if he embodies all of the surface virtues, and is
shiftless, any superior with sense will mark him for the discard, and
his coworkers will breathe a sigh of relief when he has gone on his
way.

Within the armed services, the tone of grudging admiration is never
missing from such altogether familiar comments as:

"He's a queer duck but he has what it takes."

"We can't get along with him but we can't get along without him."

By such words, we unconsciously yield the palm to the man who,
whatever his other shortcomings, excels us in application to duty. One
of the worst rascals ever raised in Britain said that while he
wouldn't give a farthing for virtue, he would pay 10,000 pounds for
character, because, possessing it, he would be able to sell it for
much more.

Is it possible then that men of thoroughly good intentions will
neglect the one value which a knave says is worth prizing? Not only is
it possible; it happens every day! We see officers of the armed
establishment who, thinking themselves employed all day, would still,
if they had to make an honest reckoning of the score after tattoo
sounded, be compelled to say that they had done exactly nothing.
Lacking some compelling duty, they may have read several hours
mechanically, neither studying what was said, making notes, nor
reflecting on the value and accuracy of it. Such papers as they
signed, they had glanced over pe