Corporal makes fun of his socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes into a corner and growls."
"How do you know?" said Bobby, admiringly.
"Because a Company commander has to know these things; because, if he does not know, he may have crime—ay, murder—brewing under his very nose, and yet not see that it's there. Dormer is being badgered out of his mind—big as he is—and he hasn't intellect enough to resent it. He's taken to quiet boozing. Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the drink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to yank him out of himself."
"What measures? Man can't run round coddling his men for ever."
"No. The man would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You've got to "
Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers. Bobby reflected for a while as Revere looked through the Company forms.
"Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?" Bobby asked, with the air of one continuing an interrupted conversation.
"No, Sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato," said the Sergeant, who delighted in long words. "A dirty soldier, and 'e's under full stoppages for new kit. It's covered with scales, Sir."
"Scales? What scales?"
"Fish-scales, Sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river, an' a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs." Revere was still absorbed in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was grimly fond of Bobby, continued: "'E generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, Sir, an' they do say that the more lush—inhebriated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They call 'im the Looney Fishmonger in the Comp'ny, Sir."
Revere signed the last paper, and the Sergeant retreated. "It's a filthy amusement," sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to Revere: "Are you really worried about Dormer?"
