Bubb drew up towards Bowdy and asked him for a drink from his water-bottle. Benners handed it to him with a solemn look. Spudhole drank.
"Good?" asked Bowdy.
"Wonderful stuff," said Spudhole.
"Hand it round," said Bowdy.
All drank from the water bottle in turn, and each man winked knowingly when he drank. None of the men had expected any rum that morning, the rations of the night before had been so short; the limbers met with a mishap when coming up to the Vallé Dump. Of course, all were aware that Bowdy had come into possession of the rum by illegitimate means. However, no enquiries were made.
"Now what about a smoke before dinner?" Bubb remarked, fixing a knowing glance on Bowdy. "'As anybody got a fag to spare? Many a pore bloke 'as 'gone West' since I 'ad my last fag."
Fitzgerald fumbled about in his haversack and found a box, a little tin box, lying snug and dry amidst a crush of papers and broken biscuits. Some fifty cigarettes were enclosed within. He handed them round.
They lit them up. The drink and the smoke exercised a cheering effect upon the men. A look of pleasure stole over every face and the men burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter when Spudhole, standing on a platform of clay, placed his arms akimbo and wished all a merry Christmas. "If we 'ave to spend the day 'ere, we must spend it 'ere, we must stick it 'ere, and there's no more to be said," he laughed. "We'll get relieved to-night," he added; "that's if we're lucky."
"Suppose we build a dug-out and light a fire," said Snogger. "There's 'arf-a-dozen poles standin' over the top; we've got waterproof sheets, trenchin' tools and good chalk to work in."
Drawing their tools from their equipment, the men set to labour with zeal, hollowed out a shelter in the chalk, roofed it over and lit a fire. The latter was the most difficult feat, and several entrenching tool handles had to be cut into thin spales and placed over the flames before the fire burned properly.