a terrific kick in the small of the back, dived
headlong out of the window and galloped down the street towards our
Lewis gunners, squealing, '_ Friend! Ros'bif! Not'arf!'_--which, in
spite of his three years of interpreting, was all the English he could
muster at the moment. The Huns emptied their automatics after him, but
only one bullet found the target, and that an outer.

"'I weesh it vos t'rough my 'eart,' he told me later, tears rolling
down his cheeks. 'Vot more use to me my life, hein? My stomach she is
for ever ruin.'"

The General laughed. "Stout fellow for a' that."

"I grant you," said the Brigadier, "but a fellow should be stout along
accepted lines. 'To Lieutenant Felix Marcel, Comte de Blavincourt, the
Military Cross for eating his map.' No, Sir, it can't be done."

The Horse-master, who was helping himself to old tawny, nodded
vigorously and muttered "No, by Jove, it can't."

"You speak with feeling, Coper," remarked the General.

"I do, Sir. I sat up the best part of three nights last March trying
to write for official consumption the story of a fellow who seemed to
me to qualify for the 'Stout' class. It was a wash-out, though; too
absurd."

"Well, give the port a fair wind and let's have the absurdity now,"
said the General.

The Horse-master bowed to the command.

"I was with the Fifth Army last year when the wave swept us. We were
fairly swamped for the moment and all nohow. One evening, retreating
on my own line, I came upon some little village--can't remember the
name just now, but you know the sort of thing--typical Somme hamlet, a
smear of brick-dust with a big notice-board on top, saying, 'THIS IS
LE SARS,' or 'POZIERES,' or whatever its name was. Anyway, in this
village I found a Divisional H.Q., four Brigade H.Q.'s, and oddities
of all sorts sitting one on top of t'other waiting for the next thing
to happen. The next thing was a single wounded lancer who happened in
about four in the morning with the glad tidings that Bosch tanks were
advancing on us". Questioned further he admitted that he had
only actually seen one and that in the dark. But it was the
great-grandfather of all tanks, according to the chap; it stood twenty
foot high; it 'roared and rumbled' in its career, and it careered by
steam.

"It wasn't any manner of use assuring him that there wasn't a steam
tank on anybody's front. He said there was, and we couldn't move him.

"'I saw steam coming from it in clouds,' b