the Yeomanry. Take him in
hand, Sybil. He's a good fellow spoiled."

"All right, Jack," said Sybil, smiling, and stepping towards the wide
veranda with her new-found friend. Gordon remained behind with the
parents to talk of old times.

"This _is_ a pleasure," said Jones as they sat down. "I never thought
of meeting such a charming person from down under."

Sybil frowned a little, then looking straight into his eyes said, "I
don't like honey, Mr. Jones, it's too sweet, and sweet things are often
sickly."

"I--I--I beg your pardon," he stammered, blushing a little.

"I'm afraid you expected to meet an aborigine, didn't you?" she said
more kindly, remembering the cue she had received from Jack Gordon.

"Not exactly--I'm afraid I have not met any Australians except the
troops."

"And what do you think of them? I'm rather interested, and like other
people's views."

"You're not super-sensitive, I hope," he remarked, "because some of
your fellows seem to be awfully touchy."

"Many Australians are; I'm not, now go on."

"Well, I like your men for their wonderful physique. They are as tough
as the oldest soldiers. But they're not very respectful, you know. I
mean, they don't salute; they stalk past with an air of equality and
even contempt. That's a bad sign in a soldier."

"Yes?" said Sybil, daintily lighting a neat cigarette and settling down
in her cosy chair.

"The officers, I hear, are excellent leaders, but, somehow, they don't
quite look the part--sort of mixed, don't you know. Somehow, their
build and clothes don't give them that distinctive touch which is the
hall-mark of the British officer. I suppose it's really a question of
breeding. They say in England it takes five generations to turn out a
gentleman. Americans seem the same as Australians. In fact, I've read
that all young and democratic countries are alike. Don't misunderstand
me, I'm not saying they are _not_ gentlemen. The life, I suppose,
knocks off the fine points."

"I see," said Sybil, turning her face towards him. "Then your
conception of a leader is a thin-waisted, well-corseted man, all hair
wash and side--a most perfect and arrogant dandy. I can't believe that
the tailor, manicurist and barber produce the leader. And you say that
our boys have not the fine touch about them. Do you think that really
counts in war? I think a Tommy wants a man to lead him whether he
looks a Caesar or Bill Sikes. You really infer th