whimper." He was sharp enough to see quickly that a boy who whimpered would have little chance in a circus. There might be tears sometimes at night, into his pillow —a dreadful, malodorous pillow it was, too. But in daylight he kept the stiff upper lip counseled by Jeff, and learned even to smile when he feit most like crying.
That paid, he found. He had a warning example in Eddie Pratt, a surly youngster whom the men heartily disliked. They commented freely on Eddie's manners, which were bad, and on his acuteness in shirking work, which was colossal. Hugh realized that he could not do better than be as unlike Eddie as possible. If he grinned and said "Sorry" when a man abused him, and took the next opportunity of doing some little turn for him, no comment was made, but he found that man more friendly afterwards. He earned the reputation of being "a goodtempered kid, an' no shirker."
Hugh learned to eat and to sleep whenever and wherever the chance came. Food was good and plentiful: Big Dan never made the mistake of underfeeding his men, though the manner of eating was generally both comfortless and rough. Sleep was snatched whenever possible: on the lorry—or under it;—beneath a bush on a day-halt: all the men had the art of taking dog-naps, ten minutes of which seemed to give them as much energy as the ordinary man gains from a full night in a comfortable bed. To pitch the sleeping tents was not always a possibility; indeed, in fine weather the men chose to camp