being the residence of three
drivers of the Royal Field Artillery. But the shelter, ingeniously
constructed of hop-poles and straw thatch, was more or less rain-proof,
and had the advantage of being so close to the horse-lines that half a
dozen strides brought the drivers alongside their 'long-nosed chums.'
It was early evening; but the horses having been watered and fed, the
labours of their day were over, and the Wheel and Lead Drivers were
luxuriating in bootless feet while they entertained the Gunner who had
called in from his own billet in the farm's barn.

The Gunner was holding forth on Tobacco Gifts. 'It's like this, see,'
he said. 'An' I knows it's so 'cos I read it myself in the paper.
First you cuts a coo-pon out o' the paper wi' your name an' address on
it. . . .'

'But, 'ere, 'old on,' put in the Wheel Driver. ''Ow does my name get
on it?'

'You write it there, fat'ead. Didjer think it growed there? You
writes your name same as the paper tells, see; an' you cuts out the
coo-pon an' you sends sixpence for one packet o' 'baccy. . . .'

'Wot sorter yarn you givin' us now?' said the Wheel Driver. 'I didn't
send no sixpence, or cut out a cow-pen. I gets this 'baccy for
nothin'. The Quarter tole me so.'

'Course you gets it,' said the Gunner impatiently. 'But somebody must
'a' paid the sixpence. . . .'

'You said I paid it--an' I never did,' retorted the Wheel Driver.

''E means,' explained the Lead Driver, 'if you was sendin' a packet of
'baccy you'd send sixpence.'

'Where's the sense in that?' said the Wheel Driver. 'Why should I sen'
sixpence when I can get this 'baccy for nothin'? I got this for
nothin'. It's not a issue neither. It's a Gif'. Quartermaster tole
me so.'

'We know that,' said the Gunner; 'but if you wanted to you could send
sixpence. . . .'

'I could not,' said the Wheel Driver emphatically. 'I 'aven't seed a
sixpence since we lef 'ome. They even pays us in bloomin' French bank
notes. An' how I'm goin' to tell, after this war's over, whether my
pay's in credit----'

'Oh, shut it!' interrupted the Lead Driver. 'Let's 'ear 'ow this Gift
thing's worked. Go on, chum.'

'It's this way, see,' the Gunner took up his tale anew. 'S'pose you
wants to send a gift . . . or mebbe you'll unnerstan' this way better.
S'pose your best gel wants to sen' you a gift. . . .'

'I ain't got no bes' gel,' objected the Wheel Driver. 'I'm a married
man, an' you knows it too.'