“And that’s just what he is, too, sir,” said the sergeant, with a chuckle.
“Best and worst! Then I suppose one must strike the happy medium, and go half-way.”
“Well, you see, Mr Darrell, it’s like this: as far as smartness and cleverness, and being well up in his drill, and a thorough good soldier, goes, Bob Hanson would, if marks were given, take the prize. But if the prize was given for a man being the most out-and-out scamp—as big a blackguard as ever stepped—there isn’t a man in the whole brigade, as far as I know, as could hold a candle to him. There isn’t a man in the troop as has such a bad report against him. He’s had twice as much punishment to get through as half-a-dozen of the other rough ones; and it’s got so bad that if he don’t look out he’ll find himself tied up to the triangles some fine morning, stripped to the overalls, and a chap standing by him with the cat.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Dick. “Horrible!”
“That’s right, sir; it is horrible. I don’t like it, and the officers hate it; but, as I said before, what are you to do with a man as will ask for it? We must have discipline.”
“Oh, but imprisonment, or bread and water.”
“What does he care for imprisonment, sir? He just lays himself out for a long snooze; and as for bread and water, he told his comrades that it did a man good, and he was better than ever when he came out of the cells the other day. Oh, the officers have tried everything with him, because he really does behave well in action. One feels as if one would like the whole battery to be made up of Black Bobs; but as soon as the fighting’s over, back he goes to his old ways.”
“But he looks so well.”
“There isn’t a better set-up man in the army, sir, and that’s why the officers have let him off scores of times when other lads would have been punished.”
“What a pity!”