ers. How doocid funny--what?"

"What is doocid funny, you blithering ass?"

"Why, if we'd gone on, dear old sport, the shell might have gone off.
By Jove, that's good, that is!" Percy chuckled immoderately. "If we go
on, the shell goes off!"

"You're the type of man who ought to be in a home," remarked his senior
officer dispassionately. "Get a saw as soon as you can, and cut
through the board. And if the bally shell goes off and kills you,
it'll serve you right. You're a disease, FitzPercy, that's what you
are. A walking microbe; an example of atavism; a throw-back to the
tail period." Still muttering, his company commander passed out of
sight, leaving the triumphant Percy completely unabashed and glowing
with righteous success.

Now, in the trenches saws do not grow freely. You cannot wander round
a corner and pick one up; in fact, a saw that will saw is an exceeding
precious thing. Moreover, they are closely guarded by their rightful
owners, who show great reluctance in parting with them. It therefore
was not surprising that over an hour elapsed before a perspiring
messenger returned with one and operations commenced. And during that
hour Percy lived.

It is given to few to see their hopes and aspirations realised so
beautifully and quickly; as in a dream he listened to the hideous
cachinnations that floated up through the slabs of the trench-board. A
continuous booming noise as of a bittern calling to its young was
varied with heavy grunts and occasional blows of a heavy bludgeon on
metal. And throughout it all there ran a delicate motif of crashing
cups and tinkling tins.

"We have them, dear old soul," murmured Percy ecstatically to himself;
"we have them simply wallowing in the mulligatawny!"

But there is an end of everything--even of getting a saw out of an R.E.
store. A glorious full moon shone down upon the scene as, an hour
afterwards, the trench-board was removed and the entrance opened. An
"up-and-over"--or trench-ladder--was lowered into the dug-out, and the
excited onlookers waited to vet the catch. At last the ladder shook,
as the first of the prisoners prepared to ascend.

"Entrance, dear old man," cried the stage-manager, majestically, "of
what we have hitherto described as 'male voices off.'"

"Get up, you swine, and get a move on!" rasped a voice in perfect
English from the depths of the hole; while a palsied silence settled on
the audience.

The ladder shook again, and