don't think I do." His face was in the shadow, but had it been
visible a slightly puzzled frown might have been seen on his forehead.
"I suppose they still make all you fellows on joining go to the
regimental tailor, don't they?"

Jesson looked a trifle surprised at the question. "I don't think they
are as particular as they were," he returned after a moment.
"Personally I went to Jones & Jones." He casually buttoned up his
mackintosh and turned to the Tunneller. "If you're ready I think we
might be going. I want to see about my kit." He got up as he spoke
and turned towards the entrance, while at the same moment the Sapper
rose too. "I'd like to drop in again, sir, sometimes if I may." He
spoke to the shadow where Staunton had been sitting.

"Do." Jesson gave a violent start, for the voice came from just behind
his shoulder. Like the hunter he was, Dick Staunton had moved without
a sound, and now stood directly between Jesson and the door. "But
don't go yet. I want to tell you a story that may amuse you. Have
some tea."

"Er--won't it keep till some other time, Major? I'm rather anxious to
see about my kit."

"Let the kit keep. Sit down and have some tea."

"What the devil has come over you, Dickie?" The Adjutant was looking
frankly amazed. "You aren't generally so loquacious."

"That's why to-night my little whim must be humoured," answered
Staunton with a slight smile. "Sit down, please, Jesson. It's quite
an amusing little yarn, and I would like your opinion on it."

"No hope for you, old boy. Dickie has turned into a social success."
The Adjutant laughed and lit a cigarette, and once again became
immersed in his paper.

To the casual observer the scene was a very normal one. Four men in a
dug-out, yarning and reading; while outside the occasional whine of a
shell, the dirty deeds of a Stokes gun, the noises of the trenches
filled the air. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the way
except--something, an indefinable something. As the Sapper said
afterwards there must have been something tangible in the
atmosphere--else why did his pulses quicken. He glanced at the
Adjutant sitting opposite him engrossed in his book; he looked at
Staunton across the table--Staunton, with a slight smile on his
lips--and his eyes fixed on Jesson. He looked at Jesson beside
him--Jesson, whom he had met that morning for the first time. And all
he noticed about Jesson was that his left knee twitched
ceasel