that--and a good job too.

I think on the whole I will keep Sydney Baxter's real name to myself.
For one thing he is still in the army; for another he is expected back
at the same office when he is discharged from hospital. It's rather
beginning at the wrong end to mention the hospital at this stage, but,
as I've done so, I'd better explain that after going unscathed through
Ypres and Hill 60, and all the trench warfare that followed, Sydney
Baxter was wounded in nine places at the first battle of the Somme on
that ever-glorious and terrible first of July. He is, as I write,
waiting for a glass eye; he has a silver plate where part of his
frontal bone used to be; is minus one whole finger, and the best part
of a second. He is deep scarred from his eyelid to his hair. I can
tell you he looks as if he had been through it. Well, he has.

He was nicknamed "Gig-lamps" in the office. He wore large spectacles
and his face was unhealthily lacking in traces of the open air. He was
in demeanour a very typical son of religious parents--well brought up,
shielded, shepherded, a little spoiled, a little soft perhaps, and
maybe a trifle self-consciously righteous. A good boy, a home boy. No
need for me to pile on the adjectives--you know exactly the kind of
chap he was. One more thing, however, and very important--he had a
sense of humour and he was uniformly good tempered and willing. That
is why, in a short time, the prejudice of the office gave way to open
approval. "Young Baxter may be a 'pi' youth, but he's quick at his
job, and nothing's too much trouble for him," said his boss. And
against their previous judgment the boys liked him. He could see a
joke. He was a good sort.

Curiously enough it was the Y.M.C.A. that first introduced Sydney