"Do you expect an Irishman is going to cook bully-beef when his regiment goes over the top?" asked Felan. "For shame!"
We rose, all of us, shook him solemnly by the hand, and wished him luck.
"Now, what about the addresses?" asked Kore. "It's time we wrote them down."
"It's as well to get it over," I said, but no one stirred. We viewed the job with distrust. By doing it we reconciled ourselves to a dread inevitable; the writing of these addresses seemed to be the only thing that stood between us and death. If we could only put it off for another little while....
"We'll 'ave a drink to 'elp us," said Bill, and a cork went plonk! The bottle was handed round, and each of us, except the corporal, drank in turn until the bottle was emptied. The corporal was a teetotaller.
"Now we'll begin," I said. The wine had given me strength. "If I'm killed write to —— and ——, tell them that my death was sudden—easy."
"That's the thing to tell them," said the corporal. "It's always best to tell them at home that death was sudden and painless. It's not much of a consolation, but——"
He paused.
"It's the only thing one can do," said Felan.