The order to stand down had long since been given and the men were now busy preparing their breakfasts. Braziers were alight in the dug-outs and the red glow of flaming coke stood out in vivid contrast to the dark interiors. Little wreaths of pale smoke curled up over the trench and the air was full of the odour of frying bacon. Spudhole was frying his bread in the grease and to judge by the expression on his face he was very interested in his work. Nothing else seemed to trouble him. The sniper's bullet hit the sandbag again and a spurt of chalk was whisked into the frying-pan. The youth looked up, obviously annoyed, and swore whole-heartedly; then he bent to his work again.
Breakfast ready, Bubb, Bowdy and Flanagan sat on the fire-step and ate.
"I've an appetite like the war Casualty List," said Flanagan. "It's always crying for 'More! More!' and is never satisfied. It's almost as bad as Bubb when he came back from hospital."
"I'd ravver be 'ere than in the 'orsp," said Bubb. "This breakfast is not to be larfed at."
The fare was indeed excellent and every man did it justice. Each had a mess-tin of tea, a thick slice of buttered bread and a rasher of bacon. Tongues were loosened and the talk became general for there were so many things to talk about. The week-old papers which came by last night's post were read and comments passed on the contents. A full page advertisement in a leading daily came in for a fair share of sarcasm. This advertisement told of the virtues of a wonderful beauty cream just discovered. It gave a most delightfully delicate pink flush to the skin and took away the effects of twenty or thirty years' wear from a woman's face. It was the talk of London. All the society women were using it. Lady So-and-So said so-and-so about it; the celebrated actress A—— vowed that it was the one thing which England had waited for since the early part of the last century, etc.
"For my own part I wish they invented some-thin' to take away the crawlers off my clothes," Spudhole remarked as he finished his tea. "I'm goin' to 'ave a coot."
He got to his feet, took off his tunic and donned his equipment over his shirt. Bowdy went into the dug-out to have a few hours' sleep; Flanagan sat down on the fire-step and lit a cigarette.
"It's getting quite hot, Spudhole," he said.
"'Ot as 'ell," Spudhole replied.
At that moment a shell burst amidst the poppy flowers on the open in front of the sector and Spudhole, who was making his way towards the dug-out door clapped his hand to his neck and exclaimed: "I've copped one this time; it's givin' me gyp!"