"Well, sir, o' course I've got those what I pinched off t' batt'ry that was here before!"
If the mud had then and there engulfed me I should have been grateful. As it was I could only weakly murmur, "Fetch them at once," and then glance round to see the expression on W——'s face. But he, good soul, was walking quietly away, though whether with the idea of relieving his own feelings or of allowing me to vent mine upon the corporal, I never dared to ask.
On the following day the corporal, who by the way is our professional comedian from Lancashire, saw fit to apologise. He did so thus—
"Sir," he said, as I was walking past his gun-pit. I turned and regarded him sternly, for I was still rather angry.
"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," he observed contritely. "I didn't mean to make a fool of you!"
The charm of the remark lies in the fact that, while disregarding the enormity of his offence in "pinching" essential gun-stores from another battery, he was genuinely upset at having made me look ridiculous. Which being the case I could do nothing but accept his apology in the spirit in which it was offered.
SPIT AND POLISH
"Personally myself," said the Child, tilting back his chair until his head touched the wall behind him, and stretching out a lazy arm towards the cigarette-box—"personally myself, I've enjoyed this trip no end—haven't you?"
"I have," I answered; "so much so, Child, that the thought of going back to gun-pits and trenches and O.P.'s again fills me with gloom."