“I guess I can risk it,” thought Pugh, and he carefully struck the match and lighted his cigarette.
As the match was rubbed over the floor heads appeared; the stillness was broken.
“Oh, Jack, thought you didn’t have any more cigarettes.”
“You got fifty francs offa me last month. I think you ought to give me a smoke!” The voice was reproachful.
Effectually and instantly Pugh checked the avalanche of reproach:
“Hey, you fellas, there’s beaucoup mail up at regimental headquahtas.”
The clumsy shadows in the darkened room answered:
“Aw bunk.”
“Cut out that crap.”