with laughter. The
dying man went on:

"It's a privilege, sir, an inestimable privilege, to have shed one's blood
in a great cause."

"It is, Mr. Brooker, but this is different stuff." His keen face wrinkled
with amusement as he sniffed, and dipped a finger in the crimson puddle.
"Too sticky." He put the finger to his tongue--"and too sweet. Show him
the bottle, Saxham."

The Doctor, imperturbably grave, held forth at the end of the scissors the
ripped-up ruins of a small-sized indiarubber hot-water bottle, a ductile
vessel that, buttoned inside the khaki tunic, had adapted itself not
uncomfortably to the still existing rotundities of the Alderman's figure.
A hyaena-yell of laughter broke from each of the crowding heads. Brooker's
face assumed the hue of the scarlet flannel chest-protector exposed by the
ruthless steel.

"What the--what the----?" he stuttered.

"Yes, that's the question. What the devil was inside it, Brooker, when the
shell-splinter hit you in the tummy and it saved your life? Stand him on
his legs, men; he's as right as rain. Now, Brooker?"

Brooker, without volition, assumed the perpendicular, and began to babble:

"To tell the truth, sir, it was loquat syrup. Very soothing to the chest,
and, upon my honour, perfectly wholesome. Mrs. Brooker makes it regularly
every year, and--we sell a twenty-gallon barrel over the counter, besides
what we keep for ourselves. And if I am to be exposed to mockery when
Providence has snatched me from the verge of the grave ..."

"Not a watery grave, Brooker," came from the Chief, with an irrepressible
chuckle--"a syrupy one. And--have I your word of honour that this is a
non-alcoholic beverage?"

"Sir, to be candid with you, I won't deny but what it might contain a
certain proportion of brandy. And the nights in the trench being
particularly cold and myself constitutionally liable to chill ... I--I
find a drop now and then a comfort, sir."

"Ah, and have you any more of this kind of comfort at your place of
business or elsewhere?"

"Why--why ..." the Alderman faltered, "there might be a little keg, sir,
in the shop, under the desk in the counting-house."

"Requisitioned, Mr. Brooker, as a Government store. You may feel more
chilly without it; you'll certainly sleep more lightly. As far as I can
see, it has been more useful outside of you than ever it was in. And--the
safety of this town depends on the cool heads of the defenders who man the
trenches. A