Cockerell, who had never outgrown certain characteristics which most
of us shed upon emerging from the Lower Fourth, laughed long and loud.

"That crowd? They belong to one of the Labour Battalions. They make
roads, and dig support trenches, and sling mud about generally.
Wonderful old sportsmen! Pleased as Punch when a shell falls within
half a mile of them. Something to write home about. What? I say, I
pulled your leg that time! Here we are at Headquarters. Come and
report to the C.O. Grenadier Guards! My aunt!"

* * * * *

Angus, although his Celtic enthusiasm sometimes led him into traps,
was no fool. He soon settled down in his new surroundings, and found
favour with Colonel Kemp, which was no light achievement.

"You won't find that the War, in its present stage, calls for any
display of genius," the Colonel explained to Angus at their first
interview. "I don't expect my officers to exhibit any quality but the
avoidance of _sloppiness_. If I detail you to be at a certain spot,
at a certain hour, with a certain number of men--a ration-party, or a
working-party, or a burial-party, or anything you like,--all I ask is
that you will be _there_, at the appointed hour, with the whole
of your following. That may not sound a very difficult feat, but
experience has taught me that if a man can achieve it, and can be
_relied_ upon to achieve it, say, nine times out of ten--well, he is
a pearl of price; and there is not a C.O. in the British Army who
wouldn't scramble to get him! That's all, M'Lachlan. Good morning!"

By punctilious attention to this sound advice Angus soon began to