‘’ere, you three men. You go back to Colincamps, an’ in one of the first ’ouses you come to, there’s a runner’s relay-post; you’ll find some Gordons there. You’ll take over from them, see? Brigade messages will be ’anded to you, an’ you’ll bring ’em on ’ere; an’ our runners will take you messages, which you’ll carry on to Brigade at Courcelles. Got it? Well, get a move on.’

They got up, and as they were pulling in their belts, Weeper, who had been sitting next to Shem, looked up at Bourne with a snarling grin, and said something about a cushy job, and some people being always lucky. Bourne did not trouble to reply, thinking, after what he had seen of the road, that headquarter dug-out in the support trenches would have satisfied him. Martlow, however, had to say something.

‘You ’ave a good sleep, ol’ tear-gas, an’ then you’ll feel better.’

They climbed out of the dug-out, and set off back to Colincamps. They had a bread-and-cheese ration in their haversacks. One of them would have to draw their full rations later.

‘I wonder why Smart has got a set on me,’ said Bourne, reflectively.

‘’cause you never take any notice of ’im when ’e starts grousin’ at you,’ said Martlow.

‘I believe you’re right,’ said Shem; ‘but I’m a bit sorry for Weeper. He’s always been an awfully good man up the line, at least they all say so in D Company. He hasn’t got any friends; and he’s so bloody miserable that he never will have any. You see, Bourne, you make friends with everybody, whether he’s a cook, or a shoemaker, or a sergeant-major, or only Martlow and myself. Until you came along, well, I mucked in all right with the others, but I didn’t have any particular chum, so I know what it feels—.’

‘Christ! Look out!’ said Bourne, crouching, but his warning was unheard in the shrieking hiss and explosion which followed almost simultaneously. There was a huge eruption of mud, earth, and stones a few yards behind the trench. They waited, tense and white, spattered with mud.

‘Let’s get out o’ this place,’ said Martlow, in a shaken whisper, and, as he spoke, another came over. They held their breath as it exploded, farther away than the first. Bourne was looking at Martlow, and saw that his underlip had fallen and was trembling a little. A third shell hissed for an appreciably longer time, and exploded nearer to the dump. They waited motionless.

‘It’s bloody lucky that first shell wasn’t closer, or we should have been buried,’ said Shem, with a rather lopsided grin, after an interval.

‘Come on, kid,’ said Bourne to Martlow. ‘You never hear the one that gets you.’

‘I’m not worryin’,’ said Martlow, quietly.

‘It must have been twenty yards off the trench,’ said Bourne; ‘but I’m not getting out to see. I think it would be better to use Railway Avenue. Fritz seems to have got Southern pretty well taped-out; and I shouldn’t like to be close to a big dixie like that in Sackville Street.’