worse at
heart than the inhabitant of Mayfair.

It is not that our ideas of greatness have degenerated when we call
these men heroes; it is not that war is entirely a thing of evil, so
that the criminal shines as a warrior--it is that these "outcasts" have
changed. Statistics prove that crime has decreased since the war began,
and crime will continue to decrease, for that indefinable instinct we
call patriotism has seized on all classes alike, so that the criminal
can make the supreme sacrifice just as magnificently as the man who has
"kept straight" all his life.

And the best of it is that this reform among burglars and beggars is not
for the "duration of the war only." War has lost us our sons and our
fathers, it has brought appalling sorrow and suffering into the world,
but it has given the very poor a chance they have never had before. No
more are they outcasts; they are members of society, and such they will
remain. If this were all the good that war could do, it would still be
our ultimate gain that the great scourge is passing over the world.

XIX

"PONGO" SIMPSON ON OFFICERS

"Orficers," said "Pongo" Simpson, "is rum blokes. I've got a fam'ly of
six kids back at 'ome, not counting Emma what's in service, an' I reckon
my orficer's more trouble to look after nor all the lot of 'em put
together. It's always: 'Simpson, where the dooce is my puttees?' or
'Simpson, you've sewed this 'ere button on in the wrong place,' or
'Simpson, the soup tastes like cocoa and the cocoa tastes like
soup'--does 'e expect me to kerry a bloomin' collection of canteens?
Don't 'e think it better to 'ave cocoa what's got a bit o' soup in it
than to 'ave a canteen what's been washed in a shell 'ole along of a
dead 'Un? Why, if we was goin' to charge to Berlin to-morrer I'd 'ave to
spend 'arf the night cleanin' 'is boots and buttons.

"Yes, 'e's a funny sort o' bloke, my orficer, but, my Gawd!"--and here
Simpson expectorated to give emphasis to his statement--"I'd foller 'im
against a crowd of 'Uns, or a lot of wimmen what's waiting for their
'usbands what ain't come 'ome at three in the morning, or anythink else
you like. 'E's an 'elpless sort of chap, an' 'e's got funny ideas about
shavin' and washin'--sort of disease, you know--but 'e's a good sort
when you knows 'is little ways.

"Do you remember that young Mr. Wilkinson?" asked "Pongo," and a few of
the "old hands" in the dug-out nodded affirmatively. "'E was a one, 'e