A PLACE IN THE MOON.
HANS. "HOW BEAUTIFUL A MOON, MY LOVE, FOR SHOWING UP ENGLAND TO OUR GALLANT AIRMEN!"
GRETCHEN. "YES, DEAREST, BUT MAY IT NOT SHOW UP THE FATHERLAND TO THE BRUTAL ENEMY ONE OF THESE NIGHTS?"
CODES.
It began like the noise of rushing water, and for a moment the Brigade Major hoped that somebody had taken it upon himself to wash the orderly. The noise, however, was followed by a succession of thumps which put an end to this pretty flight of fancy. Aghast he surveyed the scene before him. Close to the Brigade Headquarters' dug-out was an old French dump of every conceivable kind of explosive made up into every known form of projectile. No longer was it a picture of Still Life. The Sleeping Beauty was awake indeed. The Prince had come in the form of a common whizz-bang.
As he looked (and ducked) a flock of aerial torpedoes, propelled by the explosion of one of their number, rose and scattered as if at the approach of a hostile sportsman. Another explosion blew what seemed to be a million rockets sizzling into the air.
The store was on fire!
The Brigade Major retired.