'Course you gets it,' said the Gunner impatiently. 'But somebody must 'a' paid the sixpence. . . .'
'You said I paid it—an' I never did,' retorted the Wheel Driver.
''E means,' explained the Lead Driver, 'if you was sendin' a packet of 'baccy you'd send sixpence.'
'Where's the sense in that?' said the Wheel Driver. 'Why should I sen' sixpence when I can get this 'baccy for nothin'? I got this for nothin'. It's not a issue neither. It's a Gif'. Quartermaster tole me so.'
'We know that,' said the Gunner; 'but if you wanted to you could send sixpence. . . .'
'I could not,' said the Wheel Driver emphatically. 'I 'aven't seed a sixpence since we lef 'ome. They even pays us in bloomin' French bank notes. An' how I'm goin' to tell, after this war's over, whether my pay's in credit——'
'Oh, shut it!' interrupted the Lead Driver. 'Let's 'ear 'ow this Gift thing's worked. Go on, chum.'
'It's this way, see,' the Gunner took up his tale anew. 'S'pose you wants to send a gift . . . or mebbe you'll unnerstan' this way better. S'pose your best gel wants to sen' you a gift. . . .'
'I ain't got no bes' gel,' objected the Wheel Driver. 'I'm a married man, an' you knows it too.'
The Gunner took a deep breath and looked hard at the objector. 'Well,' he said, with studied calm, 'we'll s'pose your missis at 'ome there wants to sen' you out some smokes. . . .'