inct, but he forms a rare backbone for K(1). There are others, of
more parts--Killick, for instance. Not long ago he was living softly,
and driving a Rolls-Royce for a Duke. He is now a machine-gun
sergeant, and a very good one. There is Dobie. He is a good mechanic,
but short-legged and shorter-winded. He makes an excellent armourer.

Then there is Private Mellish. In his company roll he is described
as "an actor." But his orbit in the theatrical firmament has never
carried him outside his native Dunoon, where he follows the blameless
but monotonous calling of a cinematograph operator. On enlistment he
invited the attention of his platoon, from the start by referring
to his rear-rank man as "this young gentleman"; and despite all the
dissuading influences of barrack-room society, his manners never fell
below this standard. In a company where practically every man is
addressed either as "Jock" or "Jimmy," he created a profound and
lasting sensation one day, by saying in a winning voice to Private
Ogg,--

"Do not stand on ceremony with me, Mr. Ogg. Call me Cyril!"

For such an exotic there could only be one destination, and in due
course Cyril became an officer's servant. He now polishes the buttons
and washes the hose-tops of Captain Wagstaffe; and his elegant
extracts amuse that student of human nature exceedingly.

Then comes a dour, silent, earnest specimen, whose name, incredible
as it may appear, is M'Ostrich. He keeps himself to himself. He never
smiles. He is not an old soldier, yet he performed like a veteran the
very first day he appeared on parade. He carries out all orders with
solemn thoroughness. He does not drink; he does not swear. His
nearest approach to animation comes at church, where he sings the
hymns--especially _O God, our help in ages past!_--as if he were
author and composer combined. His harsh, rasping accent is certainly
not that of a Highlander, nor does it smack altogether of the
Clydeside. As a matter of fact he is not a Scotsman at all, though
five out of six of us would put him down as such. Altogether he is a
man of mystery; but the regiment could do with many more such.

Once, and only once, did he give us a peep behind the scenes. Private
Burke, of D Company, a cheery soul, who possesses the entirely
Hibernian faculty of being able to combine a most fanatical and
seditious brand of Nationalism with a genuine and ardent enthusiasm
for the British Empire, one day made a contemptuous