“The brigadier sent for me once and ordered me to go out and get a certain German sniper.  I’d been pretty lucky—­some days I got enough for a mess—­and he’d heard of me.  He opened a map and said to me:  ’Here’s about where he holes up.  Go get him, Private Peck.’  Well, Mr. Ricks, I snapped into it and gave him a rifle salute, and said, ’Sir, it shall be done’—­and I’ll never forget the look that man gave me.  He came down to the field hospital to see me after I’d walked into one of those Austrian 88’s.  I knew my left wing was a total loss and I suspected my left leg was about to leave me, and I was downhearted and wanted to die.  He came and bucked me up.  He said:  ’Why, Private Peck, you aren’t half dead.  In civil life you’re going to be worth half a dozen live ones—­aren’t you?’ But I was pretty far gone and I told him I didn’t believe it, so he gave me a hard look and said:  ’Private Peck will do his utmost to recover and as a starter he will smile.’  Of course, putting it in the form of an order, I had to give him the usual reply, so I grinned and said:  ’Sir, it shall be done.’  He was quite a man, sir, and his brigade had a soul—­his soul——­”

“I see, Bill.  And his soul goes marching on, eh?  Who was he, Bill?”

Bill Peck named his idol.

“By the Twelve Ragged Apostles!” There was awe in Cappy Ricks’ voice, there was reverence in his faded old eyes.  “Son,” he continued gently, “twenty-five years your brigadier was a candidate for an important job in my employ—­and I gave him the Degree of the Blue Vase.  He couldn’t get the vase legitimately, so he threw a cobble-stone through the window, grabbed the vase and ran a mile and a half before the police captured him.  Cost me a lot of money to square the case and keep it quiet.  But he was too good, Bill, and I couldn’t stand in his way; I let him go forward to his destiny.  But tell me, Bill.  How did you get the two thousand dollars to pay for this vase?”

“Once,” said ex-Private Peck thoughtfully, “the brigadier and I were first at a dug-out entrance.  It was a headquarters dug-out and they wouldn’t surrender, so I bombed them and then we went down.  I found a finger with a ring on it—­and the brigadier said if I didn’t take the ring somebody else would.  I left that ring as security for my check.”

“But how could you have the courage to let me in for a two thousand dollar vase?  Didn’t you realize that the price was absurd and that I might repudiate the transaction?”

“Certainly not.  You are responsible for the acts of your servant.  You are a true blue sport and would never repudiate my action.  You told me what to do, but you did not insult my intelligence by telling me how to do it.  When my late brigadier sent me after the German sniper he didn’t take into consideration the probability that the sniper might get me.  He told me to get the sniper.  It was my business to see to it that I accomplished my mission and carried my objective, which, of course, I could not have done if I had permitted the German to get me.”