"And I don't see any sense in fighting and fighting and fighting, yet always losing through some derned old lunkhead of a general." A sarcastic man who was tramping at the youth's side, then spoke lazily.

"Mebbe yeh think yeh fit th' hull battle yestirday, Fleming," he remarked.
The speech pierced the youth.

Inwardly he was reduced to an abject pulp by these chance words.

His legs quaked privately.

He cast a frightened glance at the sarcastic man.
"Why, no," he hastened to say in a conciliating voice, "I don't think I fought the whole battle yesterday." But the other seemed innocent of any deeper meaning.