"She used ter sit on top of the parapet," explains a friendly lance-corporal; "but became a casualty, owin' to a sniper mistakin' 'er for a Guardsman's bearskin. Show the officer your back, Christabel!"
We inspect the healed scar, and pass on. Next moment we round a traverse—and walk straight into the arms of Privates Ogg and Hogg!
No need now to remain with the distinguished party from Headquarters. For the next half-mile of trench you will find yourselves among friends. "K(1)" and Brother Bosche are face to face at last, and here you behold our own particular band of warriors taking their first spell in the trenches.
Let us open the door of this spacious dug-out—the image of an up-river bungalow, decorated with window-boxes and labelled Potsdam View—and join the party of four which sits round the table.
"How did your fellows get on last night, Wagstaffe?" inquires Major
Kemp.
"Very well, on the whole. It was a really happy thought on the part of the authorities—almost human, in fact—to put us in alongside the old regiment."
"Or what's left of them."
Wagstaffe nods gravely.
"Yes. There are some changes in the Mess since I last dined there," he says. "Anyhow, the old hands took our boys to their bosoms at once, and showed them the ropes."
"The men did not altogether fancy look-out work in the dark, sir," says Bobby Little to Major Kemp.