is nightly prowls. That worthy was wont to remark that two men on
a joy ride in No Man's Land was one too many; wherefore it must be
assumed that Reginald had grown in wisdom and cunning, and found favour
in the sight of his taskmaster.

They slipped over the top about ten p.m. Shorty was armed as usual
merely with the villainous billhook-kukri of his own design, while
Reggie carried a revolver and a clasp knife which resembled a young
bayonet. It was not a reconnoitring patrol as laid down in the book of
the words; it was merely a pleasure ramble, so Shorty said, as they
passed silently out of a sap and disappeared in the darkness.

The first thing Reggie did was to kick a tin and fall into a shell
hole, where he was joined by Shorty.

"Frightening rooks, son," he remarked kindly, "or rehearsing as a
knockabout comedian? About twenty-five yards from here on our left is
the German sap party that I am visiting to-night. I like 'em to know
I'm coming."

"Sorry, Shorty," muttered the delinquent. "I never saw the ruddy
thing."

"You don't say. I thought you'd a-done it on purpose," returned the
other with ponderous sarcasm. "Now you stop here; I'm goin' to that
sap--an' I'll come back for you."

Like a wraith Shorty faded into the night, leaving our friend alone
with his thoughts. A Lewis gun was firing away down the line in short
bursts, while Verey lights and flares went up every now and then with a
faint hiss. Above, the low-flying clouds scudded over the sky, and our
friend lay back in his shell hole and pondered. With an inward chuckle
he wondered what the beautiful Miss Belsize and the other fair ones of
Mogg's would say if they could see him at that moment. A sense of
physical well-being was on him, and he stretched himself luxuriously.
The next instant he was struggling impotently in a grip that throttled
him.

"Quite so," remarked a voice as the grip relaxed, and by the light of a
flare he found Shorty occupying the shell hole once again. "A ruddy
lot o' good you are. Killed and dead as mutton by now, if I'd been a
Boche."

Reggie reddened in the darkness with shame. "I wasn't thinking,
Shorty. I--er . . ." His words died away.

"Thinking! You flat-footed clam--this show ain't a debating society,
nor yet a penny reading." Shorty snorted with rage. "Go over to that
saphead there--d'you see it--an' see what thinking does." His hand
pointed to a low hummock of chalk behind a crater. "