“Well, if you ask me, I don’t think you will,” I said as calmly as possible. Aggie put her head on my shoulder and wept between sneezes.
“I know I’m weak, Lizzie,” she moaned, “but I’m frightened, and I’m not afraid to say so. You’d think she only had to shoo those Germans like a lot of chickens. I love Tish, but if she’d only sprain her ankle or something!”
However, Tish came back soon, bringing Mr. Burton with her and two baskets with cigarettes on top and grenades below, and also our revolvers and a supply of extra cartridges. She had not explained her plan to Mr. Burton, so we sat down behind the wall and she told him. He seemed quite willing and cheerful.
“Certainly,” he said. “It is all quite clear. We simply go into No Man’s Land for souvenirs, and they pass us. Perfectly natural, of course. We then continue to advance to the German lines, and then commit suicide. I’ve been thinking of doing it for some time anyhow, and this way has an element of the dramatic that appeals to me.” I have learned since that he felt that the only thing to do was to humor Tish, and that he was convinced that about a hundred yards in No Man’s Land would hurt no one, and, as he expressed it, clear the air. How little he knew our dear Tish!
As it is not my intention to implicate any of those brave boys who sought to give us merely the innocent pleasure of visiting the strip of land between the two armies I shall draw a veil over our excursion through the trenches that night, where we were met everywhere with acclaim and gratitude, and finally assisted out of the trenches by means of a ladder. As it was quite dark the grenades in the basket entirely escaped notice, and we found ourselves at last headed toward the German lines, and fully armed, though looking, as Mr. Burton observed, like a picnic party.
He persisted in making humorous sallies such as: “Did any one remember the pepper and salt?” and “I hope somebody brought pickles. What’s a picnic without pickles?”
I regret to say that we were fired on by some of our own soldiers who didn’t understand the situation, shortly after this, and that the bottle of blackberry cordial which I was carrying was broken to fragments.
“If they hit this market basket there’ll be a little excitement,” Mr. Burton said. He then stopped and said that a joke was a joke, but there was such a thing as carrying it too far, and that we’d better look for a helmet or two and then go back.
“The Germans are just on the other side of that wood,” he whispered; “and they don’t know a joke when they see one.”
“I thought, Mr. Burton, you promised to take Hilda a German officer,” Tish said scornfully.