"None here," replied Wagstaffe. "There may be some back in the support trenches."
"We might telephone and inquire."
"No good at present. The wires are all cut to pieces. The signallers are repairing them now."
"I was nearly a casualty," confessed Bobby modestly.
"How?"
"That first shell of ours nearly knocked my head off! I was standing up at the time, and it rather took me by surprise. It just cleared the parados. In fact, it kicked a lot of gravel into the back of my neck."
"Most people get it in the neck here, sooner or later," remarked Captain Blaikie sententiously. "Personally, I don't much mind being killed, but I do bar being buried alive. That is why I dislike Minnie so." He rose, and stretched himself. "Heigho! I suppose it's about time we detailed patrols and working parties for to-night. What a lovely sky! A truly peaceful atmosphere—what? It gives one a sort of Sunday-evening feeling, somehow."
"May I suggest an explanation?" said Wagstaffe.
"By all means."
"It is Sunday evening!"