"There is the dinner call."
"What troop are we in?" Edgar asked, seizing his trumpet, and on learning at once gave the troop call.
"We are in messes of eight," Willcox replied. "We and the three tents to the right have one mess. It is our turn to go over and get the grub."
Accordingly Willcox and Edgar went across to the field-kitchen and received the rations for their mess, consisting of beef and vegetables—the bread for the day had been served out early. Returning to the tents the rations were divided between the party of eight, and Edgar was introduced by Willcox to his new messmates.
"Your regiment was at Aldershot with us eighteen months ago."
"Yes; but I did not know any of your men. I was over one or two evenings at your canteen, which was by a long way the best in the camp."
"Yes, we used to have some good singing there and no mistake," one of the men said.
"The Long Valley is not bad in the way of dust, but this place beats it hollow," another put in.
"This is a cleaner dust," Edgar said. "The Long Valley dust blackened one; this does not seem to have any dirt in it. As far as the uniforms go there is not much difference, but one doesn't feel so grimy after a charge over this Egyptian sand as one did in the Long Valley."
"We played you fellows at cricket, I remember," the man said. "I was in our eleven. You beat us, for you had a youngster we could not stand up against, he was a beggar to bowl."