They had achieved more of the semblance than the reality of cleanliness, and were drying themselves when Corporal Tozer, who knew their value, came round to the back of the tent and looked at the water, already grey and curdled with dirt and soap.

‘You two are the champion bloody scroungers in the battalion,’ he said; and it was impossible to know whether he were more moved by admiration or by disgust. Shem, whose eyes were like the fish-pools of Heshbon, turned on him an expression of mingled innocence and apprehension; but Bourne only looked on indifferently as the corporal, making a cup of his hand, skimmed off the curdled scum before dashing the dirty water over his own head and neck. Bourne had no modesty in the demands he made on his friends, and he had got the water from Abbot, the company cook, by asking for it casually, while discussing the possibility of procuring, illegally, a grilled steak for his dinner, preferably with fried onions, which for the time being proved unobtainable.

‘Tell me when you’ve finished with the bucket, will you, Corporal?’ he said quietly, as he turned to go back to the tent with Shem. Before putting on his tunic, after taking it outside to brush rather perfunctorily, he looked at the pockets which the machine-gun bullet had torn. The pull of his belt had caused them to project a little, and the bullet had entered one pocket and passed out through the other, after denting the metal case of his shaving-stick, which he had forgotten to put into his pack, but had pocketed at the last moment. His haversack had been hit too, probably by a spent fragment of a shell; but the most impressive damage was the dent, with a ragged fissure in it, in his tin-hat. His pulse quickened slightly as he considered it, for it had been a pretty near thing for him. Then he heard Pritchard talking to little Martlow on the other side of the tent.

‘… both ’is legs ’ad bin blown off, pore bugger; an’ ’e were dyin’ so quick you could see it. But ’e tried to stand up on ’is feet, “’elp me up,” ’e sez, “’elp me up.” – “You lie still, chum,” I sez to ’im, “you’ll be all right presently.” An’ ’e jes gives me one look, like ’e were puzzled, an’ ’e died.’

Bourne felt all his muscles tighten. Tears were running down Pritchard’s inflexible face, like rain-drops down a window-pane; but there was not a quaver in his voice, only that high unnatural note which a boy’s has when it is breaking; and then for the first time Bourne noticed that Swale, Pritchard’s bed-chum, was not there; he had not missed him before. He could only stare at Pritchard, while his own sight blurred in sympathy.

‘Well, anyway,’ said Martlow, desperately comforting; ‘’e couldn’t ’ave felt much, could ’e, if ’e said that?’

‘I don’t know what ’e felt,’ said Pritchard, with slowly filling bitterness, ‘I know what I felt.’