This time the Colonel turns round and shouts so strongly that I can hear the words:
"You will be court-martialled for that!"
But in the next instant Charlie runs up to him:
"I don't care! And if you don't come down at once I'll tell the company your secret."
He has caught the Colonel's arm and drags him down to relative safety. And another fit of laughter follows.
I wonder. Has he won his commission or decidedly lost it? But there is no time for wondering. A big shell, a Jack Johnson, falls in our trench. There is a terrific explosion, and I see Charlie thrown up into the air, three or four yards up, and coming back.
No one else is wounded, although we were all shaking a bit. Even the Colonel.
There he lies, my chum, my Charlie, quite pale, white as a corpse, save for the blood that covers his big nose. Somebody bends over him and says:
"Some water, quick!"
Off runs Guncotton shouting: