“Halloa, cobber,” he said at last.
“Hallo,” I answered, and turned towards him.
He looked at me out of palest blue eyes. “I just come from the firing line,” he said. “It’s murder there. What are you blokes doing?”
“Going to shoot soon, I suppose,” said I.
“You ought ter be up in the firin’ line. They could do with you.”
“Oh!” I answered.
“Gettin’ any losses here?”
“Most of the fire is going over, but we’ll be shooting in a minute or two, and that ought to open the ball in earnest.”
He said nothing to this; but soon, very soon, he was up and creeping away. He passed from view, but not towards the firing line.
Yes, it was going to be a hot day. I pushed my finger into the neck of my shirt, which already was clammy with perspiration. A haze had fallen over the more distant parts of the bay; and round my ears a solitary fly buzzed with persistence worthy of a nobler cause. Neither shrapnel nor lyddite could move him. Yes, it was going to be a hot day!