There was silence for a while. It had grown dark outside. But the call from the theatre sounded again. Gradually the waiting-room emptied itself until at last there were only two men left sitting in front of the fire. They both seemed depressed and gloomy. Then one of them broke the silence and said:
"We was goin' over when a 'eavy one burst. I didn't 'alf cop a packet in me shoulder. It's the third time too, an' I've got the wind up about goin' up the line agin when I'm out o' dock. The third time's yer last, yer know. Fritz'll send one over with me number on it, that's a bloody cert!"
"If yer number's up it's up," said the other, who had a big patch over his right ear. "If yer've got ter die yer've got ter die, an' it's no use worryin' about it."
Their turn came before long and I helped each one to get on to a table. Then I went over to the Prep. to see if any more walking wounded had arrived, but there were none at all.
I stood out in the open for a few minutes in order to breathe the fresh air. There was a roar and rumble of distant drum-fire. The trees behind the C.C.S. stood out blackly against the pallid flashes that lit up the entire horizon.
The mortuary attendant came walking along the duckboards.
As he passed by me he growled:
"There's a 'ell of a stunt on—there'll be umpteen slabs for the mortuary."