‘No bloody fear,’ said Martlow hastily. ‘I ’ad enough t’day before yesterday. You can’t see nowt, an’ you get a crick in your bloody neck; an’ them fieldglasses is not ’arf as good as what the C.O. pinched off me.’

‘I didn’t hear any whistles, not till t’boomb burst,’ said Chapman, somewhat mollified by food. ‘You ask Bill, ’e was on airy-plane guard.’

‘First thing I see was a shell burstin’, an’ then another,’ said Bill Bates nervously; ‘an’ I blew me whistle as soon as I see the first shell. T’ sun was in me eyes. What d’you want to bring me into ’t for?’

‘You’ve got no call to worry, kid,’ said Jakes. ‘You was on the other side o’ the town.’

‘Well, then, what’s ’e want to bring me into ’t for?’ asked Bates, with indignation.

The sight of Bourne putting his equipment together created a diversion, and when he explained the reason they looked at him as though he were one of those who had all the luck.

‘I think we must be going to move somewhere else,’ said Bourne to Shem, ‘or Lance-Corporal Johnson wouldn’t go in full pack. We shall have to carry a lot of stuff. Do you or Martlow want me to bring anything back?’

‘Bring what you like,’ said Shem smiling. ‘Martlow and I have mucked in together, since you’ve been in the orderly-room.’

‘Well, the three of us can muck in together now,’ said Bourne.

‘When you come back to the company, you mean,’ said Martlow.

Bourne showed no curiosity concerning the business which had brought them into Noeux-les-Mines. He was glad to dump the box which he and Lance-Corporal Johnson had carried the three miles from Philosophe on the floor of the quartermaster’s office. They had carried it between them. It had those handles which hang down when not in use, but turn over and force one’s knuckles against the ends of the box when it is lifted. By reversing the grip, one may save one’s knuckles, but only at the expense of twisting one’s elbow, and the muscles of the forearm. Having tried both ways, they passed their handkerchiefs through the handles, and knotted the corners, so that it was slung between them, but the handkerchiefs being of different sizes, the weight was not equally distributed. The quartermaster’s store was a large shed of galvanised iron, which may have been a garage originally. He was not there, but the carpenter, who was making wooden crosses, of which a pile stood in one corner, thought he might be at the transport lines; on the other hand, he might be back at any moment, so they waited for as long as it took to smoke a cigarette, watching the carpenter, who, having finished putting a cross together, was painting it with a cheap-looking white paint.

‘That’s the motto of the regiment,’ said the carpenter, taking up one on which their badge and motto had been painted carefully. ‘It’s in Latin, but it means “Where glory leads.”’