"Gentlemen, I call this song 'All Boche'—because it is," he remarked. And then he sang a string of purely topical verses, brilliantly clever in their allusions to the everyday events in which they all bore their part, and he did not spare the failings of various officers and N.C.O.'s, who were supposed to be imaginary, but whom everybody recognised; and when he had done he resumed his seat quietly on the edge of the platform as though it had been nothing, and Dennis went over to him.
"I say, you know, that's the best thing I've heard for years," said the lad enthusiastically. "Would it be possible to have a copy of the words, or is it asking too much?"
"I'll write them down with pleasure, sir," said the wounded Highlander; "but I've got no paper."
Dennis whipped out his pocket-book and tore out some leaves, withdrawing to his packing-case to leave the obliging soldier undisturbed.
But man proposes—you know the old proverb, and before Dennis could seat himself, the voice of the Company Sergeant-Major rang out from the head of the staircase: "Fall in, everybody, and as sharp as you like!"
There was an instant stampede up and out into the thunder of the guns; and as men scurried along the trench the wounded Highlander handed one of the folded leaves to a sergeant of Dennis's platoon.
"Give that to your Second Lieutenant," he said, "and guid necht." And the sergeant, spying Dennis in front of him, delivered his message.
"By Jingo, he's written them quickly! I hope they're all here," said the boy, diving into his new dug-out in search of his trench helmet. And opening the paper in the candlelight, he read to his utter astonishment and rage:
"If you want the words of my song you must come and fetch them, little beastly Dashwood! What a lot of fools you English are! And so your Great Push will begin at 7.30 in the morning. Very well, we shall be ready for you!"