 in loud sentence. »B'jiminy, we're generaled by a lot of
lunkheads.«
    »More than one feller has said that t'-day,« observed a man.
    His friend, recently aroused, was still very drowsy. He looked behind him
until his mind took in the meaning of the movement. Then he sighed. »Oh, well, I
s'pose we got licked,« he remarked, sadly.
    The youth had a thought that it would not be handsome for him to freely
condemn other men. He made an attempt to restrain himself but the words upon his
tongue were too bitter. He presently began a long and intricate denunciation of
the commander of the forces.
    »Mebbe, it wa'n't all his fault - not all together. He did th' best he
knowed. It's our luck t' git licked often,« said his friend in a weary tone. He
was trudging along with stooped shoulders and shifting eyes like a man who has
been caned and kicked.
    »Well, don't we fight like the devil? Don't we do all that men can?«
demanded the youth loudly.
    He was secretly dumb-founded at this sentiment when it came from his lips.
For a moment his face lost its valor and he looked guiltily about him. But no
one questioned his right to deal in such words, and, presently, he recovered his
air of courage. He went on to repeat a statement he had heard going from group
to group at the camp that morning. »The brigadier said he never saw a new
regiment fight the way we fought yesterday, didn't he? And we didn't do better
than many another regiment, did we? Well, then, you can't say it's the army's
fault, can you?«
    In his reply, the friend's voice was stern. »'A course not,« he said. »No
man dare say we don't fight like th' devil. No man will ever dare say it. Th'
boys fight like hell-roosters. But still - still, we don't have no luck.«
    »Well, then, if we fight like the devil and don't ever whip, it must be the
generals' fault,« said the youth grandly and decisively. »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
