There is Dobie. He is a good mechanic,
but short-legged and shorter-winded. He makes an excellent armourer.
Then there is Private Mellish. In his company roll he is described
as "an actor." But his orbit in the theatrical firmament has never
carried him outside his native Dunoon, where he follows the blameless
but monotonous calling of a cinematograph operator. On enlistment he
invited the attention of his platoon, from the start by referring
to his rear-rank man as "this young gentleman"; and despite all the
dissuading influences of barrack-room society, his manners never fell
below this standard. In a company where practically every man is
addressed either as "Jock" or "Jimmy," he created a profound and
lasting sensation one day, by saying in a winning voice to Private
Ogg,--
"Do not stand on ceremony with me, Mr. Ogg. Call me Cyril!"
For such an exotic there could only be one destination, and in due
course Cyril became an officer's servant. He now polishes the buttons
and washes the hose-tops of Captain Wagstaffe; and his elegant
extracts amuse that student of human nature exceedingly.
Then comes a dour, silent, earnest specimen, whose name, incredible
as it may appear, is M'Ostrich. He keeps himself to himself. He never
smiles. He is not an old soldier, yet he performed like a veteran the
very first day he appeared on parade.
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