"No, it was a short letter to mother," replied the Spare Part in a choking voice.
"Dear me! And you didn't finish it?"
"No," came the quiet answer, as Cowdie began to attack his upper lip, which was all quivering with apparent emotion.
"What did you say, then?"
"I said, 'Dear Mother,--I am sending you five shillings, but not this week.'"
At this a burst of laughter from the whole party called forth the ire of Old Snorty, who was passing by, for he had been up early, with several squads of air-mechanics, seeing off "B" Flight, who were paying another early morning visit to the enemy.
"A little less noise there, Number Seven, or some of you'll be in the guard room. How the deuce can we hear when 'B' Flight's coming in, if you kick up a row like that?"
"Old Snorty seems to have something on his mind this morning, doesn't he?" said some one. "'B' Flight won't be back for a couple of hours yet."
So the men were quiet for a whole minute after that until the sergeant-major, having passed out of earshot, and there still being three minutes left for parade, the men returned to their chaff and titter, Brat leading off again by saying:
"That letter of yours, Cowdie, reminds me of another chap who worked alongside of me near St. Pierre with the --th Squadron. He once wrote a letter to his mother as follows: