er--see? a quitter.
You'd not be pullin' your weight. Do you get me?"

"Right ho! Bill; I'll tell him I will." Reginald Simpkins stared
silently at the football match for a while, and then a sudden thought
struck him. "Say, why didn't _you_ take it, Shorty?"

"Never you mind; there are things as you can't get a hold of as yet. I
pull more weight where I am, my son, than I would if I was the ruddy
sergeant-major himself."

With which sage utterance our friend had to rest content. But while we
are on the question, it is passing strange that, in a community such as
a regiment, the power of the old soldier should be as great as it is.
There was but little exaggeration in Shorty's last remark. In his
present position he exercised a far greater influence on the men around
him than if he had been a sergeant. It was his individuality--an
individuality which made him an oracle whom all approached with their
little grievances and their little troubles. Had he been a senior
N.C.O. there would have been the bar of rank; and though his influence
would have been very great, now it was even greater. But with our
friend the case was different. He had no such individuality developed
as yet which marked him out at once as a man among men; and before he
could become an oracle to whom others would turn in their troubles, he
must first be given a helping hand--shown a short cut, so to speak--to
the character on which men lean instinctively.

And there is only one way to produce that character--only one. It may
succeed and it may fail; the shrewdest judges of human character make
mistakes, the best leaders err sometimes. But--give him
responsibility, and help him to understand that responsibility, with
the help that only a good leader can give. Help him to grasp that
phrase--_My_ men; help him to realise that their worries are his
worries, their amusements his amusements; help him to understand the
value of cheerfulness when everything is damnable--utterly damnable.
Then watch him. He may fail; well, you've made a mistake; but he may
succeed, and then you've made a man. Which is always a thing worth
doing. . . .

VIII

THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED

And so it came about that three months later Reginald
Simpkins--lance-corporal--and Shorty Bill--private--were seated on the
fire-step of a trench side by side. With one continuous droning roar
the shells passed over their heads and crumped into the German lines
opp