The Signaller paused a moment. But his gaze fell on the letter he still held in his hand, and he tapped it with a scornful finger and burst out again violently: 'King an' Country—huh! An' a bald-'eaded blighter sittin' warm an' dry an' comfortable by 'is fireside at 'ome writes out an' tells me what the Country's thinkin'. I come in 'ere after a day that's enough to turn the 'air of a 'earse-'orse grey, an' I'm told about my pals bein' casualtied; an' to top it all I gets a letter from 'ome—"why don't you do somethin'? Why don't you get up an' go for 'em?" Ar-r-rh!!'
''Ome,' remarked the Limber Gunner. ''Ome don't know nuthin' about it.'
'They don't,' agreed the Signaller. 'But what I wants to know—an' there's a many 'ere like me—is why don't somebody let 'em know about it; let 'em really know.'
[1] Disconnected.
[2] Ricochets.
[3] Overcoat.