"This fine fellow Sherbrand is an old correspondent of mine. He would say I might tell you the story, and I think it’s worth hearing, in a way. It must be eight years ago, when he would be about seventeen, that he wrote to me from an engineering college at Newcastle, to say he had read some papers of mine on the subject of scouting, and proposed—if I thought it would not be presumption on his part—save the mark!—to enrol and organise a troop on the lines laid down. He wanted a definite code of Scout law to work on, and Rules and so forth, all of which I supplied him, you may be sure. Busy as I was drilling and cub-licking the North British Territorials, I couldn’t find time to spare to run up and see the boy. So he commandeered a holiday and motor-cycled to Headquarters. Rode all through one night in pelters of rain, and caught me in my 5 A.M. tub." "He meant business." "Business—and it was up to me to encourage such grittiness and enthusiasm. So I ordered coffee for two, and bacon and eggs for half a dozen, and when I had fed him I talked. My book wasn’t published, but I lent him some proof-sheets. He thanked me, but before he took them he had to disburden his mind." The fine sunburnt hand went thoughtfully to the grizzled moustache, worn rather longer than of old. "He had got something on his mind. He had been reading that old bogey-book, _Hales on Mental Heredity_, and the theory of the transmission of base or criminal tendencies from the parents to the children, had haunted him night and day. He said to me, standing up before me, looking about as long and thin as a fathom of pump-water: ’My father was dismissed from the Army in War-time, for not backing up his C.O. Is there a kink in _my_ brain or a bacillus lying waiting in _my_ body that will one day make a slacker of me?" Saxham’s square face was ashen, but the Chief’s eyes were elsewhere. "And you told him——?" "I told him, that whilst physical disease and deformity are transmissible from the unhealthy parents to their unlucky offspring, no sensible Christian regarded the theory of inherited vice or crime, as anything but the most pernicious lie that the devil ever invented to spread as a net for the catching of bodies and souls. That seemed to buck him up!" "I do not doubt it!" said Saxham. He breathed more freely, and his face had regained its natural hue. "I reminded him," went on the Chief, "that our Army and our Fleet are indebted for thousands of the finest men, morally and physically speaking, to Reformatories and Industrial Schools and Homes. ’Think of the character borne by Barnardo’s boys,’ I told him, ’and grind the scorpion lie to pulp under your boot-heel, whenever and wherever you find it cocking up its damnable tail!’" "So he went back," said Saxham, "cheered and strengthened by your sympathy, as—other men have been before now!"