“I’ve heard a lot about that too,” their owner said. “It’s mostly from youngsters, though.”
“My informant was no youngster.”
“Ah! you mean Simmonds. His knowledge isn’t first hand. He’s been listening to the youngsters probably. It doesn’t amount to much, a reputation like that.”
The Colonel sat back in his chair and sipped his whisky meditatively.
“You disclaim then the reputation you have gained?” he said.
The other shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
“Does any man actually deserve the admiration accorded him?—or the discredit? Such things have their fashion.”
“Then, you would not, perhaps, describe yourself as absolutely fearless?”
The man flushed darkly, hesitated for an instant, and then touched the scar on his face deliberately.
“That marks a moment of absolute terror,” he said quietly. “Thank God! the fear of being a coward made me receive it in the face instead of the back. Courage is only a matter of control. The hero differs from the coward by the smallest accident of temperament. If self-control were appreciated rightly and made a particular part of the education of the race, the term coward would be seldom applied, and then only to the person it fitted.”