“The regiment—I was a squadron-leader at the time—was quartered at Murchester. Not a bad station at all: good shooting, very fair hunting, especially if you didn’t scorn the carted stag, polo, and most excellent cricket. Also some delightful houses in the neighbourhood; and as we’d just come home from our foreign tour we found the place greatly to our liking. London was an hour and a bit by train; in fact, there are many worse stations in England than the spot I have labelled Murchester.
“The only fly in the ointment when we first arrived was a fairly natural one, and a thing which only time could cure. The men were a bit restive. We’d been abroad, don’t forget, for more than ten years—India, Egypt, South Africa—and the feel of the old country under their feet unsettled ’em temporarily. Nothing very bad, but an epidemic of absence without leave and desertion broke out, and the officers had to settle down to pull things together. Continual courts-martial for desertion don’t do a regiment any good with the powers that be, and we had to stop it.
“Of course, one of the first things to look to, when any trouble of that sort is occurring, is the general type and standard of your N.C.O.’s. In my squadron they were good, though just a little on the young side. I remember one day I discussed the matter pretty thoroughly with the squadron sergeant-major—an absolute top-notcher.
“ ‘They’re all right, sir,’ he said. ‘In another two or three years there will be none better in the British Army. Especially Trevor.’
“ ‘Ah! Sergeant-Major,’ I said, looking him straight in the face, ‘you think Trevor is a good man, do you?’
“ ‘The best we’ve got, sir,’ he answered quietly, and he stared straight back at me.
“ ‘You weren’t so sure when he first came,’ I reminded him.
“ ‘Well, I reckon there was a bit of jealousy, sir,’ he replied, ‘his coming in from the link regiment over a good many of the chaps’ heads. But he’s been with us now three months—and we know him better.’
“ ‘I wish I could say the same,’ I answered. ‘He defeats me, does Sergeant Trevor.’
“The Sergeant-Major smiled quietly. ‘Does he, sir? I shouldn’t have thought he would have. That there bloke Kipling has written about the likes of Trevor.’