Signals?' he
asked, carefully retrieving a cigarette stump from behind his ear and
lighting up.

The Signaller snorted again. 'Just 'ark at this,' he said, unfolding
his letter again. 'I'll just read this bit, an' then I'll tell you the
sort of merry dance I've 'ad to-day. This is from an uncle o' mine in
London. 'E grouses a bit about the inconvenience o' the dark streets,
an' then 'e goes on, "Everyone at 'ome is wonderin' why you fellows
don't get a move on an' do somethin'. The official despatches keeps on
sayin' 'no movement,' or 'nothin' to report,' or 'all quiet,' till it
looks as if you was all asleep. Why don't you get up an' go for 'em?"'

The Signaller paused and looked up. 'See?' he said sarcastically.
'Everyone at 'ome is wonderin', an' doesn't like this "all quiet"
business. I wish everyone at 'ome, including this uncle o' mine, 'ad
been up in the trenches to-day.'

'Have a lively time?' asked the Number One. 'We had some warmish
spells back here. They had the range to a dot, and plastered us
enthusiastic with six- an' eight-inch Johnsons an' H.E. shrapnel. We'd
three wounded an' lucky to get off so light.'

'Lively time's the right word for my performance,' said the Signaller.
'Nothin' of the "all quiet" touch in my little lot to-day. It started
when we was goin' up at daybreak--me an' the other telephonist wi' the
Forward Officer. You know that open stretch of road that takes you up
to the openin' o' the communication trenches? Well, we're just nicely
out in the middle o' that when Fizz comes a shell an' Bang just over
our 'eads, an' the shrapnel rips down on the road just behind us. Then
Bang-Bang-Bang they come along in a reg'lar string down the road. They
couldn't see us, an' I suppose they was just shooting on the map in the
hopes o' catching any reliefs o' the infantry on the road. Most o' the
shells was percussion, after the first go, an' they was slam-bangin'
down in the road an' the fields alongside an' flinging dirt and gravel
in showers over us. "Come on," sez the Forward Officer; "this locality
is lookin' unhealthy," an' we picked up our feet an' ran for it. Why
we wasn't all killed about ten times each I'll never understand; but we
wasn't, an' we got to the end o' the communication trench an' dived
into it as thankful as any rabbit that ever reached 'is burrow with a
terrier at 'is tail. After we got a bit o' breath back we ploughed
along the trench--it was about ankl