On our way the Sergeant tells me that it is to-day two years since he saw Parsifal in London, which he declares being not only a Hun-palatable, tedious work, but also a Hun-Christian one mocking the Mass and acceptable only from the Hun's point of view, as Pan-Germanic propaganda. Whereupon we hear from somewhere the bells of the holy Grail ringing. It is Pringle, the ventriloquist, who provides them, of course.
Cotton, the chemist, who enjoys quite naturally the nickname Guncotton, and who habitually speaks a special language nobody can understand (for it is crammed with chemical formulas), starts a great sniffing performance. At last he declares that there is a distinct scent of H2SO4, and wonders, wonders, wonders.
Nor is his astonishment incomprehensible. H2SO4 is sulphuric acid, and what he smells is in reality cabbages being cooked somewhere in a neighbouring trench.
Later on I remember our throwing hand grenades. The Sergeant is very clever at that game, which he accompanies with fits of his devilish laughter. When a shell bursts near us without hurting anybody, he laughs again, rather imitating the laughter of Mephisto in the third act of Faust.
The Colonel is quite near us, and Charlie by his side. There is a periscope and the Colonel can see whatever we achieve.
The Sergeant throws another hand grenade.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" he laughs, "one more Hun Hun-done!"
"That was a nice one," states the Colonel.
"What of my commission, Sir?" risks Charlie.