"What do you want now?" he asked.
"A drop of rum, if you have any to spare," I answered.
"You're a devil for your booze," Mac said, taking the cork out of a water bottle which he often uses for an illegitimate purpose. "There's a wee drappie goin', man."
I drank.
"Not bad, a wee drappie," said Mac. "Ay, mon! it's health tae the navel and marrow to the bones."
"Are all the others in bed?" I asked. Several hands work at the dressing-station, but Mac was the only one there now.
"They're having a wee bit kip down in the cellar," said Mac. "I'll get down there if you clear out."
"Give me some iodine, and I'll go," I said.
He filled a bottle, handed it to me, and I went out again to the street. A slight artillery row was in progress now, our gunners were shelling the enemy's trenches and the enemy were at work battering in our parapets.
A few high explosives were bursting at the Twin Towers of Loos and light splinters were singing through the air. Bullets were whizzing down the street and snapping at the houses. I lit a cigarette and smoked, concealing the glowing end under my curved fingers.