It would almost seem that the ideal leader is that man who knows how to extract from the brains of his subordinates all that is best and strongest therein--who knows how to suppress his own individuality, and merge it for the time being into that of his fellow-worker--whose influence is from within and not from without.
The most successful Presidents of Republics have been those who are, or pretend to be, nonentities, content to be mere pegs, standing still and lifeless, for things to be hung upon.

Jack Meredith was, or pretended to be, this.

He never assumed the airs of a leader.

He never was a leader.
He merely smoothed things over, suggested here, laughed there, and seemed to stand by, indifferent all the while.
In less than a week they left the river, hauling their canoes up on the bank, and hiding them in the tangle of the virgin underwood.

A depot of provisions, likewise hidden, was duly made, and the long, weary march began.
The daily routine of this need not be followed, for there were weeks of long monotony, varied only by a new difficulty, a fresh danger, or a deplorable accident.