gan his
fall from gentility! . . .

II

THE FIRST LESSON

It was not a very rapid descent. The art of sniping and its attendant
pastime scouting is not learned in a day. Moreover, in company with
the other games that are played in the trenches, it has the one
dominant feature about it. One mistake made in the rules is one too
many; there is no chance of making a second. True, the player will
have taught the man who takes his place yet another of the things not
to do; but personally--even at the risk of being dubbed a
pessimist--the method of teaching is one I would prefer to see others
employ, sentiments which were shared to the full by Shorty Bill.
Therefore our superior young friend, having gazed upon the result of a
sniper's bullet, and in the gazing remoulded his frock-coated
existence, could not have come under a better master.

Shorty Bill was a bit of a character. Poacher and trapper, with an eye
like a lynx and a fore-arm like a bullock's leg, he was undoubtedly a
tough proposition. What should have made him take a liking to Reginald
is one of those things which passes understanding, for two more totally
dissimilar characters can hardly be imagined. Our friend--at the time
of the shooting of Black Fritz--was essentially of that type of
town-bred youth who sneers at authority behind its back and cringes to
its face. Such a description may sound worse than the type deserves;
for all that, it is a true one of the street-bred crowd--they've been
reared on the doctrine. Shorty was exactly the reverse. Shorty, on
one occasion, having blocked six miles of traffic with a fractious
mule, and being confronted suddenly by an infuriated Staff officer who
howled at him, smiled genially and electrified the onlookers by
remarking pleasantly, "Dry up, little man; this is _my_ show." That
was Shorty in front of authority. Behind its back--well, his methods
may not have commended themselves to purists in etiquette, but I have
known officers sigh with relief when they have found out unofficially
that Shorty had taken some little job or other into his own personal
care. There are many little matters--which need not be gone into, and
which are bound to crop up when a thousand men are trying to live as a
happy family--where the unofficial ministrations of our Shorty
Bills--and they are a glorious if somewhat unholy company--are worth
the regimental sergeant-major, the officers, and all the N.C.O.'s put
togeth