s of sarcasm against made-in-Germany English-speakers
generally and Soho waiters in particular; and he took the fact there
was no reply from the voice as highly satisfactory evidence that it had
been the 'Soho waiter' who had 'copped it.'

'Exit the waiter--curtain, an' soft music!' remarked a private known as
'Enery Irving throughout the battalion, and whistled a stave of 'We
shall meet, but we shall miss him.'

'Come on, 'Enery, give us 'is dyin' speech,' some one urged, and 'Enery
proceeded to recite an impromptu 'Dyin' Speech of the
Dachshund-stealer,' as he called it, in the most approved fashion of
the East End drama, with all the accompaniments of rolling eyes,
breast-clutchings, and gasping pauses.

'Now then, where's the orchestra?' he demanded when the applause had
subsided, and the orchestra, one mouth-organ strong, promptly struck up
a lilting music-hall ditty. From that he slid into 'My Little Grey
Home,' with a very liberal measure of time to the long-drawn notes
especially. The song was caught up and ran down the trench in full
chorus. When it finished the orchestra was just on the point of
starting another tune, when 'Enery held up his hand.

'"'E goes on Sunday to the church, an' sits among the choir."' he
quoted solemnly and added, 'Voices 'eard, off.'

Two or three men were singing in the German trench, and as they sang
the rest joined in and 'Deutschland ueber Alles' rolled forth in full
strength and harmony.

'Bray-vo! An' not arf bad neither,' said Private Robinson approvingly.
'Though I dunno wot it's all abart. Now s'pose we gives 'em another.'

They did, and the Germans responded with 'The Watch on the Rhine.'
This time Private Robinson and the rest of the Towers recognised the
song and capped it in great glee with 'Winding up the Watch on the
Rhine,' a parody which does not go out of its way to spare German
feelings.

'An' 'ow d'you like that, ol' sossidge scoffers?' demanded Private
Robinson loudly.

'You vait,' bellowed a guttural voice. 'Us vind you op--quick!'

'Vind op--squeak, an' squeakin',' retorted Private Robinson.

The German reply was drowned in a burst of new song which ran like
wild-fire the length of the German trench. A note of fierce passion
rang in the voices, and the Towers sat listening in silence.

'Dunno wot it is,' said one. 'But it sounds like they was sayin'
something nasty, an' meanin' it all.'

But one word, shouted fiercely and lustily, caught