regiment used to loathe and
imitate, 'what have you to tha-ay?'

I explained my case, and whilst I did so he read something which lay on
the table before him. When I had done he said, with his finicking lisp,
'Seven days' cells, hard labour.' The old regimental sergeant happened
to be there, and for an instant arrested judgment.

'I beg your pardon, sir, the man is really unfit to perform hard
labour.'

'Then,' said the Solon, 'in that case let him have forty-eight hours'
solitary confinement.'

I ventured as respectfully as I could to protest. I represented that it
was hardly just to punish a man for not performing a heavy physical task
whilst admitting in the very terms of the sentence that he was unfit to
do it. The answer was, 'Right about face, march!' I went to cells. I had
my hair cut, and I spent thirty-six delirious hours alone. At the end
of that time my condition was reported and I was removed; but from
that hour I was sullen and rebellious, and whatever spirit of order and
discipline might have lived in me until then vanished completely.

Only four years ago, on a very memorable occasion in my life, I sat
side by side with one of my old officers. He assured me, with every
appearance of gravity, that if I had stayed much longer I should have
disintegrated the regiment. I was sure, on the other hand, that the
regiment would have disintegrated me; and though I was smart enough and
willing enough to have made a good soldier at the beginning, I was too
angry at stupidity and injustice to care to please anybody any longer.
I knew one man who, having been gently nurtured, found himself suddenly
thrown upon his own resources. He enlisted with a full determination
to rise. When I last heard of him, years ago, he held brevet rank in
another regiment; but I know what slights he endured, to what numberless
insults he submitted, and how harsh and cruel the pathway to success was
made for him at the beginning. They tell me things are better now, and
I hope with all my heart they may be. As I knew the ranks they were
made well-nigh intolerable for any well-educated youngster who showed a
disposition to get on.

V

Thousands of people remember the excitement created five or six years
ago by the story of the Missing Journalist. Scores still cherish the
memory of poor MacNeill and think of him as amongst the cheeriest,
friendliest, and most helpful of men. He was a delightful fellow and
a good fellow; but he ha