"I think he comes under the head of fool-
men. He mopes like a sick owl."
"That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool yet, but he's
a dashed dirty soldier, and his room 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 and,
Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the drink, or takes to moping by
himself, measures are necessary to pull him out of himself."
"What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men forever."
"No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You've got
to"--Here the Color-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, wbo delighted
in long words.
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