Blindly and without coherent thought he ran shouting across the field, stumbling and falling over the slippery and uneven surface, but always picking himself up and flinging his body onward into the unknown.
A subaltern, who was examining a luminous watch, received him at the charge as he fell into an English first-line trench. They struggled wildly together in the mud to the accompaniment of startling language on the part of the subaltern.
Then Albert, having reached his limit of endurance, had the supreme tact to faint.
A little later, in a well-found dug-out, the patient was refreshing himself with copious draughts of brandy.
"Who are you, and what the devil are you doing here?" asked the still indignant officer.
Albert did not hesitate longer than it takes to swallow.
"Lorst me way, I 'ave, Sir. I'm with X 33, attached to Mechanical Transport, an' if I ain't back pretty quick my mate 'ull fair 'ave a bloomin' fit."
As was predicted by the sagacious man of oil, the mud upon the —— road is slowly climbing towards the axles, but in spite of this and sundry other drawbacks it would be hard to find a more contented spirit than that of Private Albert Snape, A.S.C. (M.T.).