: my story is not
of them. Only their conversation, half serious, half joking, brought
back the picture of Jimmy O'Shea--Irishman, cowpuncher, general
scallywag, and his doctrines of war and the way of his death. As I sat
at the next table lazily watching pictures in the haze of tobacco
smoke, their words conjured up the vision of that incomparable fighter
who paid the great price a year ago, and now lies somewhere near Le
Rutoire in the plains beyond Loos. For their talk was of a strange
thing: the bayonet and the psychology of killing. . . .

"Have you ever killed a man, Joe? that is, killed him with a bayonet?"
It was the man in mufti who was speaking; and his companion--a Major in
khaki--laughed shortly.

"I can't say that I have. I've shot one or two Huns, but I've never
put a bayonet into one."

The other grunted. "They were teaching me to use a bayonet this
morning. It's rather fun. An intensely pugilistic little man stamped
his foot at me, and brandished a ball on the end of a stick in front of
my face. One's aim and object, as far as I could tell from the book of
the words, was to stab the ball with the point of one's bayonet, and at
the same time grunt in a manner calculated to cause alarm and
despondency to every one within earshot. At times you hit the ball
with the butt of the rifle; at others you kick it, endeavouring if
possible not to stub your toe. Everything depends on what part of the
German's anatomy it is supposed to represent at the moment." He paused
and relit his cigar; then he smiled slightly. "I rather enjoyed it.
The pugilistic warrior was quite pleased with me. He barked 'stomach'
at me out of my turn, and there was the dam ball about a yard away. I
stabbed it, kicked it, hit it with my butt, and fell down, all in the
course of two seconds. But you know, Joe,"--again he paused
slightly--"it's one thing to joke and talk about it here. I can't help
thinking it's going to be a very different matter when one gets to the
real goods. Fancy putting a foot of cold steel into a man's body."

A woman paused by their table on the way out.

"So you've actually joined up, you poor dear. Your wife told me you
quite liked it."

"Yes, dear lady." He stood up and bowed. "After refusing me a
commission for two years they've pushed me into what I believe they
call the Feet. It's rather jolly. I haven't felt so well for years."

"And what do you do?" She adjusted her wrap to pass o