"Keep 'em amused and interested," said Revere. "They went on the
drink, poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no
improvement. Oh, it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a -
never mind."

Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary mess
dinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping
over the condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot
himself as to insinuate that the presence of the officers could do
no earthly good, and that the best thing would be to send the
entire Regiment into hospital and "let the doctors look after
them." Porkiss was demoralised with fear, nor was his peace of
mind restored when Revere said coldly: "Oh! The sooner you go out
the better, if that's your way of thinking. Any public school
could send us fifty good men in your place, but it takes time,
time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble, to make
a Regiment. S'pose you're the person we go into camp for, eh?"

Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which
a drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later,
quitted this world for another where, men do fondly hope,
allowances are made for the weaknesses of the flesh. The
Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily across the Sergeants'
Mess tent when the news was announced.

"There goes the worst of them," he said. "It'll take the best, and
then, please God, it'll stop." The Sergeants were silent till one
said: "It couldn't be him!" and all knew of whom Travis was
thinking.