my soul, it's
equally good!" explained the Second-in-Command. "He's like poor old
Barclay Gammon and Corney Grain and half a dozen of those musical-sketch
men rolled into one. It's his own composition too."

There was a great chord on the piano, the performer laid his cigarette
on the music rest, and made an amazing face by way of introduction.

"Gentlemen, I call this song 'All Boche'--because it is," he remarked.
And then he sang a string of purely topical verses, brilliantly clever
in their allusions to the everyday events in which they all bore their
part, and he did not spare the failings of various officers and
N.C.O.'s, who were supposed to be imaginary, but whom everybody
recognised; and when he had done he resumed his seat quietly on the edge
of the platform as though it had been nothing, and Dennis went over to
him.

"I say, you know, that's the best thing I've heard for years," said the
lad enthusiastically. "Would it be possible to have a copy of the words,
or is it asking too much?"

"I'll write them down with pleasure, sir," said the wounded Highlander;
"but I've got no paper."

Dennis whipped out his pocket-book and tore out some leaves, withdrawing
to his packing-case to leave the obliging soldier undisturbed.

But man proposes--you know the old proverb, and before Dennis could seat
himself, the voice of the Company Sergeant-Major rang out from the head
of the staircase: "Fall in, everybody, and as sharp as you like!"

There was an instant stampede up and out into the thunder of the guns;
and as men scurried along the trench the wounded Highlander handed one
of the folded leaves to a sergeant of Dennis's platoon.

"Give that to your Second Lieutenant," he said, "and guid necht." And
the sergeant, spying Dennis in front of him, delivered his message.

"By Jingo, he's written them quickly! I hope they're all here," said the
boy, diving into his new dug-out in search of his trench helmet. And
opening the paper in the candlelight, he read to his utter astonishment
and rage:

"If you want the words of my song you must come and fetch them,
little beastly Dashwood! What a lot of fools you English are!
And so your Great Push will begin at 7.30 in the morning. Very
well, we shall be ready for you!"

CHAPTER XV

"Reedshires!--Get Over!"

Dennis sprang from his dug-out into the trench, and the first person he
encountered was Harry Hawke.

"Where's that wounded Highlander?"