ether, that they were looking forward to crucifying the next
Englishman they caught, which again was an immense success, and was
greeted invariably by a specially selected choir chanting the Hymn of
Hate. And yet the damage done was not very great from the material
point of view. It was the mental jolt, the jar to their spiritual
loftiness, that tickled the dear souls up. . . .

Now primarily my story concerns Reginald Simpkins and his
transformation to manhood. And therefore, before I tell of the raid
itself, I will touch on one or two matters concerning that
transformation, and the methods of the Honourable James.

D Company won the toss, so to speak, and was deputed to perform; and
Reginald Simpkins was not in D Company. Being a sniper, he was
attached to that mystic band of specialists who adorn battalion
headquarters. And so, one morning, the snipers were assembled and the
Adjutant gazed at them benignly through his eyeglass.

"D Company are going to raid the Huns," he remarked. "I want six
volunteers to go with them." The result was as he anticipated. "I
said six, not the whole bunch," he continued genially, "so I'll have to
draw lots."

Now nothing would induce me to hint that everything was not perfectly
square in that drawing, but--Reginald Simpkins was one of the six. In
due course his part in the programme was explained to him, and during
the explanation his face became more and more suggestive of a street
corner on a rainy day.

"You understand what you have to do, Simpkins?" The Honourable James
looked at him keenly.

"Yes, sir, I understand; but--but--ain't I to have a go at the swine at
all?" Our friend's grievance boiled over. "Can't I just go into the
trench once and have a go at them? It'll be a bit hard sitting by the
tree stump, and hearing the boys at it, and having to . . . ." His
words died away under the steady glance of the man opposite.

"And because it's a bit hard, you don't want to do it?"

"It ain't that, sir, it's--it's----"

"Well, what is it? Not the showy part of the performance, eh? Not the
part where the fun comes--sitting by a bank and taking the roll as they
come back. But some one has to do it--why not you?"

The second lesson in the making of a soldier--subordination of
self. . . . As a matter of fact there was no reason why Reginald
should have been deputed to the job: there were many others who could
have done it equally well if not better. But the