"You mean I'll 'ave to throw the Button away?"
"What! Throw it away? You're barmy." Bill glared at his pal.
"Well, what do I do?"
"I tell yer. Do nothing."
"Nothing at all? Keep the Button, an' ..."
"O' course you keep the Button, you blinkin' idjit. Does Don know anything about yer blinkin' Button? It's my belief Don don't know a thing—'e's just bluffin' us. But all you 'ave to do is to leave the Button alone till we get our leave. No more Eustace till we're safe 'ome; but if you chuck the Button away, Alf 'Iggins, I'll 'arf kill you. But I'd give a good bit, I would, to know 'ow much Donaldson really knows."
Next day the news came through that the brigade was not after all to be sent to another part of the front; instead, it moved up once more for a tour of duty in the well-known sector. The attention of both sides at this time was concentrated on the great battle going on at Arras, and the remainder of the front was quiet but watchful. On the brigade's frontage nothing more strenuous happened than a continuous but not very intense bombardment, and though the division on their right made a trench-raid, the Middlesex Fusiliers were not called upon for any exciting work.
During all this period Alf and Bill were as conspicuous by their presence among their mates as they had formerly been by their absence. Whenever wiring-parties and similar delights were required, their names were usually the first on Sergeant Lees' list, while fatigues of every kind became to them a hobby.
"It's a queer thing," the sergeant observed caustically to the company sergeant-major one day, after he had fallen in a working-party for Lieutenant Donaldson's inspection, and had heard the officer comment favorably on the appearance of Privates Higgins and Grant, "what good soldiers all our scally-wags seem to 'ave become, now that there's a chance of gettin' a leave. They'll eat out o' me 'and now, but you see what'll 'appen as soon as they've 'ad their leave. More trouble they'll be 'n a bagful o' monkeys."