"Ask them," said the sergeant anxiously. "Had they commenced to retire." He breathed a sigh of relief when the answers came. "No," that the message had just stopped them in time.
"Then," he said, "you can go ahead now and tell them the order to retire is cancelled, that the reënforcements have arrived, that they're up in our forward line, and we can hold it good—oh!"
He paused and wiped his wet forehead; "you," he said, turning to the other signaler, "tell them behind there the same thing."
"How in thunder did they manage it, sergeant?" said the perplexed signaler. "They haven't had time since they got my message through."
"No," said the sergeant, "but they've just had time since they got mine."
"Got yours?" said the bewildered signaler.
"Yes, didn't I tell you?" said the sergeant. "When I went out for a look round that time, I found an artillery signaler laying out a new line, and I got him to let me tap in and send a message through his battery to headquarters."
"You might have told me," said the aggrieved signaler. "It would have saved me a heap of sweat getting that message through." After he had finished his message to the rear station he spoke reflectively: "Lucky thing you did get through," he said. "'Twas a pretty close shave. The O.C. should have a 'thank you' for you over it."
"I don't suppose," answered the sergeant, "the O.C. will ever know or ever trouble about it; he sent a message to the signaling company to send through—and it was sent through. There's the beginning and the end of it."
And as he said, so it was; or rather the end of it was in those three words that appeared later in the despatch: "It is reported."