The sergeant's name was Snogger. He was a well-built man, straight as a ramrod and supple as an eel. He was very strict on parade, a model soldier, a terror to recruits and a rank disciplinarian. "When you're on parade you're on parade," was his pet saying. He had a tendency to use the letter "w" a little too often when speaking. Once he said admonishing a dilatory squad: "You blokes in the wear wank must wipe your wifles wiv woily wags in future!" Sergeant Snogger was a handsome man, proud as Lucifer and very careful about his person. His moustache was always waxed, his finger nails were always clean, and whenever possible he slept with his trousers placed under his bed and neatly folded. Thus a most artistic crease was obtained. Snogger had peculiar ears. Their tops pressed very closely into the head and the lobes stood out. Looking at the ears from the side they had an appearance similar to that of a shovel stretched out to catch something; seen from behind they looked as if crouching against a parapet waiting for an oncoming shell. The men liked Snogger and the sergeant preferred the company of riflemen to that of his brother N.C.O.'s. Bowdy Benners was a different type of man. A young fellow of twenty-four, slightly over medium height, but thick-set and sturdy. He had remarkably long arms, heavy buttocks and broad shoulders. The latter he swung vigorously when marching. This motion imparted a certain defiant swagger to the man which his placid nature utterly belied. He was of a kindly disposition, extremely good-humoured, but very self-conscious and blushed red as a poppy when spoken to. There was something very amiable and kind in his face; something good and comforting in his sleepy eyes, his rather thick lips and full cheeks. His ears perhaps were out of keeping with the repose which found expression on the rest of his features. They stood out from his head alert and ready, as it seemed, to jump from their perch on to the ground. Bowdy could drink like a fish, but French beer never made him drunk and champagne merely made him merry. When merry he swore and his companions laughed at this unaccustomed violence. "Devil blow me blind," he would say, stretching his long arm across the table at which he might be sitting and bringing down his massive fist with a thundering bang. "Devil blow me stone blind for a fool!" And all the soldiers around would laugh and wink at one another, as much as to say: "Is he not a big silly fool; not half as clever as we are." Bowdy was not indeed particularly clever; he lacked excessive sharpness of wit. But his mates loved him, for his spirit of comradeship was very genuine and he had a generous sympathy for all things good and noble. Often when the boys' tongues were loosened in a French tavern one of them might be heard saying: "Old Bowdy's a damned good sort. I'd follow him anywhere, even to hell." Then the others would answer: "None like old Bowdy. One of the best he is. And a good man."