The first time we got any hint that the chap had guts was when we were out at rest at Christmas. He’d been shifted from one section to another, because no one wanted him.. Each new Number One as he received him put him on to his worst horses, so as to get rid of him the more quickly. The chap was grooming a very ticklish mare, when she up with her hind-legs and caught him in the chest, throwing him about twenty yards into the mud. He lay stunned for a full minute; we thought he was done. Then, in a dazed kind of way, he got upon his feet. He was told he could fall out, but he insisted upon finishing the grooming of his horse. When the stable parade was dismissed, much against his will he was sent to be inspected by the Brigade doctor. The doctor looked him over and said, “I ought to send you out to a hospital, but I’ll see how you are to-morrow. You must go back to your billets and keep quiet. The kick has chipped the point of your breast-bone.” “It didn’t,” said Driver X., “and I’m not going to lie down.” The doctor, who is very small, looked as much like the Last Judgment as his size would allow. “You’ll do what you’re told,” he said sharply. “You’ll find yourself up for office if you speak to me like that. If I told you that both your legs were broken, they would be broken. You don’t know very much about the Army, my lad.” “But my breast-bone isn’t chipped,” he insisted. Contrary to orders he was out on the afternoon parade and was up to morning stables next day at six o’clock. When strafed for his disobedience, he looked mild and inoffensive and obstinate. He refused to be considered, and won out. You can punish chaps for things like that; but you don’t. The next thing we noticed about him was that he was learning to swear. Then he began to look rough, so that no one would have guessed that he came from a social grade different from that of the other men. And this was the stage he had arrived at when I got wounded last summer and left the battery. The story of his further progress was completed for me this week when I met my major in town. “Who’s the latest hero, do you think?” he questioned. “You’d never guess—the dental student. He did one of the most splendid bits of work that was ever done by an Artillery driver.”