“Go on—­tell us another!”

“I bet yer it’s true, now then!”

“How much do you bet?”

“Fifteen bloody francs!”

“All right, I’ll take yer on!”

“I reckon the Froggies is the worst,” said a man who had not spoken before.  “I was out ‘ere in 1914 an’ they didn’t ’alf let us down.  I was a bloody fool ter join up though—­I’d like to strangle meself for it.  They won’t catch me volunteerin’ for the next war, not this child, no bloody fear!  Look at the way they treat yer—­like bleed’n’ pigs.  There ain’t no justice anywhere.  There’s strong an’ ’ealthy fellers at the Base just enjoyin’ theirselves.  Then there’s the ’eads what ’as servants to wait on ’em—­d’yer think French or Duggie ’Aig ever ’as shells burstin’ round ’em?  Then there’s the Conchies what ’as a easy time in clink—­if I see a Conchy in civvy life, I’ll knock ’is bloody ’ead orf, struth I will.  And the civvies—­gorblimy—­when I was ’ome on leave they kep’ on arstin’ me, ‘Ain’t yer wounded yet?’ an’ ‘When are yer goin’ back?’ But d’yer think they care a damn—­Not they, you bet yer life on it! They don’t want the war to stop—­they’re earnin’ good money an’ go to dances an’ cinemas.  They’d start cryin’ if we ’ad peace—­I tell yer, I was glad when me leave was over an’ I was back wi’ me mates.  I won’t ‘alf throw me weight about when I gits out o’ the army!  I won’t ’alf raise ’ell—­I’ll ’ave a bloody revverlution, you see if I don’t!...”

The shout of “Next man” sounded across from the theatre, and the would-be destroyer of the social order got up and walked across.

“Where were you wounded?” asked one of the soldiers of his neighbour who was drawing his breath in sharply between his lips, evidently being in great pain.

“Near Eeps, [Ypres] by the Canal.  A shell busted in front o’ me an’ a bit copped me in the shoulder.  Fritz was sending ’em over by the ’undreds, whizz-bangs an’ ’eavy stuff all mixed up—­gorblimy, ’e don’t ’alf give yer what for!”

There was a temporary lull in the conversation and then a small, wiry, spiteful looking Cockney spoke.  He had reddish hair and big round spectacles of the army pattern.

“I didn’ ’alf do it on a Fritz afore I was wounded!  ’E give ’isself up an’ I takes ’im along—­I makes ‘im walk in front o’ me—­yer can’t take no risks wi’ them bastards.  ‘E turns rahnd an’ says ter me in English—­’e must ‘a’ bin a clurk or a scholard—­’e says, sarcastic like, ‘I s’pose yer think yer goin’ ter win the war!’ I gets me rag out an’ tells ’im ter mind ‘is own bleed’n’ business.  I tells ’im if I catch ’im lookin’ rahnd agin I’ll kill ‘im!  We walks on a bit an’ suddenly I throws a Mills at ’im—­gorblimy, it wasn’t ’alf a fine shot, it busted right on ‘is shoulder.  It didn’ ’alf make a mess of ’im—­I bet ’is own mother wouldn’t ‘a’ rekkernized ’im as ‘e lay there wi’ ’is clock all smashed up!”

“I think it’s a damned shame to kill a man after he’s surrendered,” said a tall Corporal.