"And he may not lose his leg at all," Herbert protested, hoping against hope.
"It won't still his tongue, I'll wager, if he does."
As the night wore on conversation grew less and many of the men dozed, sitting on the ground and propped against the dirt wall, or each other. One little fellow slept and even snored lying across the stretched legs of two others, until they tumbled off to rest their limbs. Others knew only wakefulness and either stood about or paced up and down between the narrow walls of the trench, stopping now and then to exchange a whispered word with their fellows.
The sniper squad took turns in making pillows of each other. Once, when they were shifting positions for comfort, Watson remarked rather sharply:
"We can't yell 'Hurrah for old Brighton!' but we can all pull together, by gum!"
Rankin, who had been in turn relieved from duty at the listening post and who was very wide awake, remarked:
"Mebbe we'll all pull together for the other shore before this night's over."
Herbert waked up at that. "Pull yourself together, old man. You were telling a while ago what you're hoping to do with those guns of yours and——"
"If I have any sort of a chance," Rankin said grimly.