Then he sat up. The storeman of the Brigade dump was not two hundred yards away from the active one. The poor fellow was to have gone on leave that night. Presently it occurred to him that, instead of trying to decide who should have the reversion of the storeman's leave, it would be better to go and see if there really was a vacancy. Fifteen boxes of melinite delayed him but a moment. With melinite you know the worst at once; it doesn't hang round like boxes of ammunition, for instance. He called a clerk and together they raced over to the storeman's dug-out.
"Jock!" cried the clerk. "Are ye there, Jock?"
"Is he quite dead?" said the B.M., making up his mind to use his leave warrant for himself.
"No, Sir, he's very deaf, that's why he's a storeman. Jo-ock!!"
"Hello!" came from the ground.
"Are ye all right, Jock?"
"Na. There's an awfu' to-do here."
"What's wrong then?"
"Ma candle keeps going oot."