"Do you remember, old man, that night when we lay in the orchard, waiting to go up to the trenches to attack?" he suddenly asked, thrusting his face almost into Bowdy's. "Do you mind the buses, crowded with soldiers carrying rifles at all angles, going by on the road, the star-shells flaring up in the sky, and the bayonets glittering? The buses—going, going like hell, and the stars above shining through the apple trees—the trees were in blossom then, if you mind.... Don't you remember it?" he asked.
"I shall never forget it," Bowdy answered.
"And the raids?" he questioned, in a slow voice. "Crawling out through the long grasses with the poppies flicking you in the face, your nerves tense, not knowing what the next moment would bring. I thought of these things day after day, and in the end I succumbed to the old lure.
"'Twas a difficult job getting back again. There was I, dismissed from the army, and no more good as a fighter; my shoulder stiff and sore; my discharge papers showing that I was medically unfit, and in fact a thorough wash-out. But something had to be done. 'Twas then that I met old Nick Nock again. He was discharged, too—time-expired. I met him, I grieve to state, in a pub. I stood him a drink and told him my predicament. He thought for a moment, then he said: 'Why not come back from the back o' beyond, a sailor, go up to the recruiting station an' call yerself Bill Jackson an' get taken on again. Don't mention a word about yer shoulder, an' maybe the M.O. won't notice it. Gawd! I'd go wiv yer meself, Flanagan, if it wasn't fer those damned rheumatics.'
"I tried the dodge, got taken on as Bill Jackson, who was at one time A.B. before the mast, and now Flanagan is dead to the British Army henceforward, evermore."
"The tea is about ready, Bill Jackson," Bowdy said, as his mate sat down on the floor between the legs of a man who was sound asleep and breathing heavily. "If you care to wait a little, I'll fry a rasher of bacon. Rations are pretty plump to-night."
"And is there any rum going?" Flanagan asked, springing to his feet again. He was too excited to remain still. "How strange that I had forgotten to ask about the rum rations until now," he muttered. "I suppose there'll be a tot after a little?"
"It's within the bounds of possibility," Bowdy remarked, as he put two rashers of bacon in the mess-tin lid and placed the lid on the brazier. "But we'll see to that later. Necessities before luxuries out here, Bill Jackson," he added.
The bacon was ready and they sat down, Flanagan and Bowdy, and commenced to eat. Meals have no season in the trenches, but they are always welcome.
"God, it's good to be back here!" said Flanagan. "I've never been so happy in all my life! I hope the war won't end until this happiness is worn out."