"Did you give him a receipt for them?"
"No. He slung them in and bolted off. I expect Brigade Headquarters are on the move, and he didn't want to lose touch with them."
"Never mind! See what they are about."
Roy opened the first envelope, and extracted a field despatch-form. He glanced at it, and grinned.
"It's lucky we got this before going up into the line!" he observed; and read aloud:
The expression "Dud" must no longer be employed in Official Correspondence.
"It's a memo from Olympus," I explained: "They mean well, but their sense of proportion is not what it might be. And the next article?"
Roy did not reply. I looked up. His face was as white as chalk. He was breathing heavily through his nose, staring in a stupefied fashion at the flimsy pink slip in his hand.
"My God!" he muttered; "My God! It'll break his heart."
"What on earth's the matter, old man?" I leaned across the table. Roy thrust the despatch towards me.