"He just got killed a minute ago," said Bill. "He jumped across the trench when the machine gun copped 'im and 'e went down flop!"
"I've just dressed his wounds," I said.
"He'll need no dressin' now," said Bill, and added compassionately, "Poor devil! S'pose 'e 's 'ad some one as cared for 'im."
I thought of home and hoped to send a letter along to Maroc with a wounded man presently. From there letters would be forwarded. I had a lead pencil in my pocket, but I had no envelope.
"I'll give you a half-franc for a green envelope," I said, and Bill Teake took from his pocket the green envelope, which needed no regimental censure, but was liable to examination at the Base.
"'Arf-franc and five fags," he said, speaking with the studied indifference of a fishwife making a bargain.
"Half a franc and two fags," I answered.
"'Arf a franc and four fags," he said.
"Three fags," I ventured.