, and the people who deal with them as persons of a high order
of courage. One remembers the times when the bomb did not emerge, but
stuck half way and exploded violently; one remembers when the entire
gun fell over and propelled the bomb in the direction of battalion
headquarters; above all, one remembers the loathing and contumely with
which the mere arrival of the trench mortar in any part of the trenches
was greeted. Then there was no attempt at camouflage; one's sole
endeavour was to avoid being killed by the beastly thing.

To return, however, to Angus. Though of a sunny disposition, as I have
said, he was a somewhat earnest individual--and thorough withal. He
determined that as a camouflage, _his_ should stand pre-eminent; it
should be the model and pattern of all camouflages. He succeeded.

Labouring at night--largely with his own fair hands--he produced a
screen cunningly woven with grasses and weeds which he swore would defy
the most lynx-eyed pilot. He even went so far as to place in the
centre of it a large bunch of nettles, which he contended gave it an
air of insouciance and lightheartedness that had been lacking before.

Now, as I mentioned above, the value of camouflage depends on its
capability for deceit; and it is by this criterion that I claim his
work as a success. It should be added, however, in no uncertain tones,
that it is the Germans whom one is desirous of deceiving, and that is
where my warning to the youthful enthusiast comes in.

The thing came too quickly for warning. Suddenly from above the
inhabitants of the hole, with whom Angus was consuming a midday glass
of port, was heard the voice: "It must be somewhere about here, sir, I
think." The voice was right--it was.

They came through in a phalanx of fire, and descended abruptly on the
detachment below. It was a magnificent compliment to the work, but it
was unfortunate that the General should have been the one to consume
the nettles. However, I have always thought that Angus's voice of
disgust as he contemplated the wreckage of his screen did not improve
matters.

"The door," he remarked, with painful distinctness, "is full of
possibilities." With that he left.

I trust the moral of my digression is obvious. . . . Having then, in a
few well-chosen phrases, discussed one type of camouflage, I would pass
on and lead the thirster for information still farther into the
by-paths of knowledge. Just as there are many and div