not think of him as a soldier. That our opinion of him was justified
the following incident will illustrate. A party of officers, including
a staff-major, was inspecting cooking and billeting arrangements in
our quarters. Bill, who happened to have a couple of hours off that
day, was strolling towards the party. He was in cook-house
attire--tunicless, his hat well back on his head, shirt-sleeves rolled
to the elbow, hands deep in his breeches pockets, a cigarette between
his lips. Regardless of the critical eyes which were focused upon him,
he sauntered leisurely towards the officers, and when in line with
them he nodded and said 'Good-day.' The officers stopped, and one of
them peremptorily inquired, 'Aren't you a soldier?' 'Oh, no,' he
replied; 'I'm D Company's cook!' His reply so amused the officers that
he was allowed to continue on his way without being reminded that as a
soldier he was required to salute all officers.

After spending a few weeks in the cook-house, he asked permission to
go to the trenches when the battalion went into the line. The transfer
was effected, and he made a start with real soldiering. No amount of
discipline could transform him from the free-from-care,
do-as-you-please individual into the polished soldier. One evening he
was posted over the gas-alert in the front line trenches, when a shell
exploded a few yards in front of him. The explosion caused his hat to
disappear and the concussion projected him into a dug-out. Only the
solidity of the wall prevented him from going further; as it was, the
force with which he was hurled against the side of the dug-out made a
deep impression on the damp wall. He lay in a motionless heap in the
corner of the dug-out. A N.C.O. rushed along the duck-boards, thrust
his head into the dug-out, and anxiously inquired of Bill as to
whether he was hurt. Bill by this time had partially recovered from
the shock. His small steel-grey eyes gradually opened. The N.C.O.