The French infantry did not wait for the ceasing of the artillery fire.  They gathered themselves and their belongings and recommenced to move as soon as the guns began to speak.

“Feenish!” as one of them said, placing a finger on the ground, lifting it in a long curve, twirling it over and over and downward again in imitation of a falling bomb.  “Ze soixante-quinze speak, bang-bang-bang!” and his fist jerked out four blows in a row.  “Feenish!” he concluded, holding a hand out towards the German lines and making a motion of rubbing something off the slate.  Plainly they were very proud of their artillery, and the Towers caught that word “soixante-quinze” in every tone of pleasure, pride, and satisfaction.  But as Private Robinson said, “I don’t wonder at it.  Cans is a good name, but can-an’-does would be a better.”

When the last of the Frenchmen had gone, the Towers completed their settling in and making themselves comfortable in the vacated quarters.  The greatest care was taken to avoid any man showing a British cap or uniform.  “Snapper” Brown, urged by the public-spirited ’Enery Irving, exhausted himself in playing the “Marseillaise” at the fullest pitch of his lungs and mouth-organ.  His artistic soul revolted at last at the repetition, but since the only other French tune that was suggested was the Blue Danube Waltz, and there appeared to be divergent opinions as to its nationality, “Snapper” at last struck, and refused to play the “Marseillaise” a single time more.  ’Enery Irving enthusiastically took up this matter of “acting so as to deceive the Germans.”

“Act!” he said.  “If I’d a make-up box and a false mustache ’ere, I’d act so as to cheat the French President ’imself, much less a parcel of beer-swilling Germs.”

The German trenches were too far away to allow of any conversation, but ’Enery secured a board, wrote on it in large letters “Veev la France,” and displayed it over the parapet.  After the Germans had signified their notice of the sentiment by firing a dozen shots at it, ’Enery replaced it by a fresh one, “A baa la Bosh.”  This notice was left standing, but to ’Enery’s annoyance the Germans displayed in return a board which said in plain English, “Good morning.”  “Ain’t that a knock out,” said ’Enery disgustedly.  “Much use me acting to deceive the Germans if some silly blighter in another bit o’ the line goes and gives the game away.”

Throughout the rest of the day he endeavored to confuse the German’s evident information by the display of the French cap and of French sentences on the board like “Bong jewr,” “Bong nwee,” and “Mercridi,” which he told the others was the French for a day of the week, the spelling being correct as he knew because he had seen it written down, and the day indicated, he believed, being Wednesday—­or Thursday.  “And that’s near enough,” he said, “because to-day is Wednesday, and if Mercridi means Wednesday, they’ll think I’m signaling ‘to-day’; and if it means Thursday,