"I dare say," answered Donaldson grimly. "The point is, can you explain it?"
Bill's face grew preternaturally innocent.
"I expect, sir, Fritz left the mugs behind 'im in the Big Frost, sir, an' the drops got froze in. Prob'ly thawed again with the warmth of our 'ands."
Donaldson eyed the propounder of this ingenious theory gravely.
"Probably," he agreed. And relapsing into his customary taciturnity, he strode off down the trench with his two mugs, little Shaw trotting behind, still lost in wonder at the sudden discovery of an artistic side in old Don.
"'E don't believe yer," said Alf apprehensively.
"'Course not. 'E's no fool, isn't Don, for all 'e looks 'arf asleep. But 'e's a sport, an' 'e likes a good lie. You'll see, 'e'll say no more about it. Let's 'ave another."
Alf, whose throat was parched with all he had been through, this time let no consideration for the feelings of Eustace deter him.