"Some decent music is what you want," said Bill Sykes, and forthwith began strumming an invisible banjo and humming Way down upon the Swanee Ribber.
The candle, the only one in our possession, burned closer to the cheese sconce, a daring rat slipped into the light, stopped still for a moment on top of a sheaf of straw, then scampered off again, shadows danced on the roof, over the joists where the hens were roosting, an unsheathed sword glittered brightly as the light caught it, and Feelan lifted the weapon and glanced at it.
"Burnished like a lady's nail," he muttered.
"Thumb nail?" interrogated Goliath.
"Ragnail, p'raps," said the Cockney.
"I wonder whether we'll have much bayonet-fightin' or not?" remarked the Jersey boy, looking at each of us in turn and addressing no one in particular.
"We'll get some now and again to keep us warm!" said the corporal. "It'll be 'ot when it comes along."
"'Ot's not the word," said Bill; "I never was much drawn to soldierin' 'fore the war started, but when it came along I felt I'd like to 'ave a 'and in the gime. There, that candle's goin' out!"
"Bunk!" roared the corporal, putting his pipe in his pocket and seizing a blanket, the first to hand. Almost immediately he was under the straw with the blanket wrapped round him. We were not backward in following, and all were in bed when the flame which followed the wax so greedily died for lack of sustenance.
To-morrow night we should be in the trenches.