“Look here, Dixon,” I said.
“Devil’s alive,” exclaimed Dixon. “Then you’ve got one. By Jove! Splendid! I say, isn’t he a beauty?” And we all went up and examined him. He was a hare of the first order. To-morrow he should be the chef d’œuvre in “B” Company mess at Morlancourt. For we went out of reserve into billets the next morning.
“How did you get him, Davies?”
“Oh! easy enough, sir. I’ll get another if you like. There’s a lot of them sitting out in the snow there. I was only about fifty yards off. He don’t get much chance with a rifle, sir.” (Here his voice broke into a laugh.) “It’s not what you call much sport for him, sir! I got this too, sir!”
And lo! and behold! a plump partridge!
“Oh! they’re as tame as anything, and you can’t help getting them in this snow,” he said.
At last the dripping hare was removed from the stage to behind the scenes, and Davies joined the smothered babel behind the arras.
“Wonderful fellow, old Davies,” said Dixon.
“By the way, Bill,” he added. “How about getting the little doctor in to-night for a hand of vingt-et-un? Can we manage it all right?”
I was Mess-president for the time, Edwards being away on a course.