to the Orderly Sergeant:  ‘Take this man’s name.’  Fletcher was up before the C.O. in the evening and got three days for laughing in the ranks.  I’m sure Peter’ll get into trouble before long.  He did the same sort of thing yesterday.  Sergeant Hyndman was in charge of us and we were standing to attention.  Peter started talking—­you could hear him as loud as anything.  Hyndman got his rag out and yelled, ‘Stop talkin’ there, will yer?’ Peter dropped his voice and went on in a whisper.  Hyndman could still hear him, so he walked up to him and shouted, ’What the bloody ‘ell’s the matter wi’ yer?’ As cool as you like old Peter replied, ‘Cacoethes loquendi.’  Of course Hyndman hadn’t the remotest idea what that meant and said, ‘None o’ yer bleed’n’ impudence, else I’ll land yer inter trouble.’  He didn’t run him though.

“I tell you, I’m jolly glad to be away from headquarters.  We’ve got old Rusty in charge of us.  He’s been a bit of a worry-guts about having cleaned boots and buttons ever since he got his second pip, but he’s quite a decent old stick taking him all round.  He gets drunk every evening, so that he’s generally too far gone to trouble about lights out.  He doesn’t make a fuss over our letters either—­I believe he can only read a very plain hand and has to skip the longer words.  A good job, too, for that’s one thing I absolutely cannot stick, the way all our letters are read....

“I hear you’ve had some excitement?  It put my wind up a bit when I heard about it.  Still, I’m glad in a way—­the monotony of our lives was becoming unbearable.  I’d rather have shell-bursts than blasts of the S.M.’s whistle.  Have many been dropping in the town recently?”

“A good few—­I daresay you’ll have some to-night if you’re lucky.  Yes, the S.M.’s whistle got on my nerves too.  I was longing for a change and frightfully keen on seeing a bit of the war.  I confess I wasn’t particularly scared by the shells we had—­of course, none of them came very near.  But I don’t want to have any more, not after seeing those wounded carried along on stretchers to-day.  You’re right in the town here and it’s quite likely that you’ll make a closer acquaintance with high-explosive shells than I’ve been able to make....”

I had hardly spoken when there was a faint muffled boom in the distance and a long, deepening howl, and then a loud explosion that shook the building.

A few minutes after a second shell passed overhead and exploded somewhere in the town.

Then, without the usual warning, there was a roar that seemed to split our heads and an impact that sent us reeling backwards against the wall.  The room was filled with dense, pungent smoke and dust that choked and blinded us.  Above the violent droning in our ears we could hear the clatter of falling bits of plaster and masonry.  A whistle blew and there was a shout of “Clear Billet.”  We thronged the doorway and poured down the stairs, panic stricken, but before we had left the building