“But, Captain, all that may be true and yet do me no good at all.  I am a different man.”

“Since you allow me to enter into your confidence,—­which I appreciate,—­I beg to say that your fears are not unnatural; I think every man in the company has them.  And I dare say, as a friend, that you feel fear more sensitively because you live in the subjective; you feel thrown back on yourself.  Confess that you are exclusive.”

“I am forced to be so, Captain.”

“The men would welcome your companionship, sir.”

“Yes, sir; but it is as you say:  I feel thrown back on myself.”

“And I think—­though, of course I would not pretend to say it positively—­that is why your fears are not unnatural, though peculiar; I fancy that you heighten them by your self-concentration.  The world and objects in it divert other men, while your attention is upon your own feelings.  Pardon me for saying that you think of little except yourself.  This new old experience of battle and peril you apply without dilution to your soul, and you wonder what the effect will be.  The other men think of other men, and of home, and of a thousand things.  You will be all right in battle.  I predict that the excitement of battle will be good for you, sir; it will force you out of yourself.”

“I have tried lately to take more interest in the world of other men and other things,” I said.

“Yes; I was glad to see you playing marbles to-day.  Shall I give you that test?”

“Yes, sir; if you please.”

“I think, however, that you have already given proof that you do not need it,” said he.

“How so, Captain?”

“Why, we’ve been talking here for ten minutes since I proposed to test you, and you have shown no suspense whatever in regard to it.  Have you lost interest in it?”

“Not at all, Captain; I have only been waiting your good time.”

“And therein you have shown fortitude, which may differ from courage, but I do not think it does.  I am confident you will at once reject my proposition.  I don’t know that I ought to make it; but, having begun, I’ll finish.  What I propose is this:  I will assign you some special duty that will keep you out of battle—­such as guarding the baggage, or other duty in the rear.”

I was silent.  An instant more, and I felt hurt.

“Why do you hesitate?”

“Because I did not think—­” I stopped in time.

“I know, I know,” said he, hastily; “and you must pardon me; but did you not urge me on?”

“I confess it, Captain; and you have done me good.”

“Of course, Jones, you know that I did not expect you to accept my offer, which, after all, was merely imaginary.  Now, can you not see that what you fear is men’s opinions rather than danger?  You are not intimidated at the prospect of battle.”

“I fear that I shall be,” said I.

“And yet, when I propose to keep you out of battle, your indignation seems no less natural to yourself than it does to me.”