"Haw—haw," mimicked some one in the back seat.
"Look here, you pudding-faced fellow," said the captain, adjusting his monocle, "I'll kick your posterior if I have any more nonsense—I will."
Having settled that little affair, the captain proceeded. "Active Service, men, is different to sham fights. At manœuvres at home you get your beef, bread, and extras; on active service it's biscuits, bully beef, and——"
"Sudden daith," cheeped a wag.
"Yes. You're liable to get a fifteen-pound [pg 66] shell into your little Mary any day. Do you think a man could live after getting a shell there, Callaghan?"
"Depends on his chist measurement, sur."
"I'm afraid he wouldn't have any chest after that. He would be——"
"Irish stew."
"Exactly."
"Now, what is the first thing you do when you see the enemy?"