something!"

"Yes, but what the deuce am I to do?" Perspiring freely the gallant
officer advanced slowly in the direction of Bendigo, who suddenly
perceived him.

The sculptor smiled wearily and pointed a languid hand at the result of
his labours. "A great work, my friend," he murmured. "One of my most
wonderful studies."

"Doubtless," remarked the Doctor cautiously. "Don't you
think--er--you'd better lie down?"

"The leafy foliage; the wonderful green effect; the tree--as I see it.
Fresh, fragrant, superb." Bendigo burbled on, heedless of his mundane
surroundings.

"What is the fool talkin' about?" howled the General, who was standing
on tip toe trying to see what was happening.

"Hush, sir, I beg of you!" The Doctor looked round nervously. "A most
peculiar----"

"I won't hush," roared his irascible senior. "Why should I hush? Some
idiot is standing on my feet; and I'm wedged in here like a sardine.
Let me speak to him." The General forced his way forward. "Now,
you--my man, what the devil are you doing? And what's that damned lump
of mud on the fire-step?"

"I am Bendigo Jones," returned the other dreamily.
"Sculptah--artist--genius."

"I didn't ask who you were," barked the now infuriated General. "I
asked you what that thing that looks like an inebriated blancmange is
meant to be."

"That model?" Bendigo bent forward and gazed at it lovingly. "That is
yonder tree as I see it. The base materialist with the foot rule will
inform you of the mundane details."

The Sapper alluded to scowled heavily at the unconscious Bendigo.
Somewhat uncertain as to what a base materialist might be, he felt
dimly that it was a term to be resented.

"I was sent up 'ere, sir, with 'im to help 'im make a model of that
there stump," he remarked morosely. "That's the fifteenth mess 'e's
made this morning; and 'e's carried on 'orrible over the 'ole lot. If
I might say so, sir, 'e don't seem quite right in his 'ead."

"I am inclined to agree with you," answered the General grimly. "He
must be swept up and . . ."

Exactly what fate was in store for Bendigo will never be known. One of
those visitations of fate which occur periodically in the trenches
interrupted the General's words, and ended the situation in more ways
than one.

"Look out, sir," cried a sergeant, with a sudden shout. "Rum jar
coming."

It came: wobbling, turning, and twisting, the little black object
descended from the skies towards