Baxter to what, for want of a better term, we will call the sporting
side of life. There's a fine sporting side to every real Englishman's
life--don't let there be any mistake about that. "He is a sportsman"
is not, as a few excellent people seem to believe, a term of reproach.
It is one of the highest honours conferred on an officer by the men he
commands. And in the ranks "a good sport" is often another way of
spelling "a hero."

It was, as I say, at the Y.M.C.A. that this one young man was first
taken out of himself and his quiet home surroundings, first became
interested in the convivialities of life. In those days, to be quite
frank about it, a certain settled staidness of demeanour, a decided
aloofness from the outside world, marked many religious households. A
book of unexceptional moral tone, and probably containing what was
known as "definite teaching," was the main relaxation after working
hours--that, and an occasional meeting and some secretarial work for a
religious or charitable society. Companions, if any, were very
carefully chosen by the parents. Well, war has changed all that--it
has even chosen our very bed-fellows for us. And no questions to be
asked, either.

It is often assumed by those who know no better that such a home as
Sydney Baxter's produces either prigs or profligates. As a matter of
fact, one of the reasons of this book is to prove that out of such a
home may come, I believe often does come, the best type of
Englishman--a Christian sportsman, a man who fights all the better for
his country because he has been taught from childhood to fear God and
hate iniquity.

But it was well for Sydney Baxter that he prepared for the chances and