osite. The days of peace for the battalion were over; in a quarter
of an hour they were going over the top. Thousands like them sat on
similar fire-steps and realised that same fact, for it was no little
show this time: it was one where divisions and corps were involved.
But to the pawns in the game, the horizon is limited: it is just their
own destination, their own life, their own fate that looms up big and
blots out the rest. It's not the other hundred thousand who matter at
the moment--it's the pawn himself who wonders, and laughs, and sings,
and prays. . . .

Shorty, smoking his pipe imperturbably, was feeling the edge of his own
particular weapon, with critical finger, and every now and then
stealing a look at the boy beside him. Apparently satisfied at last
with its sharpness he laid it down on the step and turned to our friend.

"You done well, son," he remarked at length, thoughtfully removing his
pipe. "I'm pleased with you. I was afraid at one time--just after you
took the stripe--when some of 'em was ragging you, as you would turn
out a quitter. But you got guts. You're twice the man you was when
you took it; and as for what you was when you joined us, you wasn't
nothing at all save a walking disease."

"I'm glad you think I've made good, Shorty." Reginald was swallowing a
little hard. "I--er--I--Good God! Shorty, I'm just sick with
funk--that's straight." It was out at last, and Shorty Bill smiled
gently and nodded his head.

"Son," he remarked, "it's one good sign that you ain't afraid o' saying
so. Now personally I'm not--though it ain't no credit to me. It's how
we're made, I reckon. When my time comes, it comes, and there's no
blamed use worrying."

"I know all that, but--somehow--it ain't much comfort that idea, when
it comes to the point. I tell you, Shorty, I don't want to be killed;
I----" His voice died away, and he looked shamefacedly at the sandbags
in front of him.

"No more don't I, son; no more don't I. An' no more don't your
men--your six boys you are responsible for. They're your men, that
little bunch: they're looking to you, they're relying on you." He put
his hand on the other's knee. "Are you a'-goin' to let 'em down, that
six?"

Once again the great doctrine--the third great lesson--the doctrine
that laughs at life and death, the doctrine of thinking for others--of
responsibility.

"It's better, I reckon, to die a man than live a worm. So long, son;
time'