ook-house," Mac was shouting through the window at the receding medico.
"And ask yon woman if she has a hairpin. My pipe. . . ." But the Doctor
was out of sight.

Ten minutes later the room was empty save for a batman clearing the
breakfast table.

* * * * * *

Now as a general rule the Sappers do not live in the trenches, but go up
there each day and most nights, the remainder of the time being spent in
dwellings of dubious sanitation and indubitable draughtiness a mile or so
in rear. To each company a certain front is allotted, and it is their
joy and pride to maintain this front and the network of trenches behind
it spotless and untarnished, what time they minister ceaselessly to the
lightest whim of its heroic defenders--usually known by the generic term
of P.B.I., or poor bally Infantry. Which, of course, is not what really
happens, but one likes to think thus beautifully.

In addition to the Infantry, other people thrust themselves forward in a
manner which requires firmness and tact to deal with: gunners require
O.P.'s, or observation posts; other gunners require trench mortar
emplacements; dangerous men with machine guns sit up and take notice, and
demand concrete and other abominations; while last, but not least, the
medical profession demand secret and secure places in which to practise
their nefarious trade. Finally, the Ordnance Department is with one
always. It was that branch of the great Machine which caused the frown
on the face of the Sapper Captain, hitherto alluded to as the O.C., while
next door the batman cleared the breakfast table.

"We're six bicycles short, you say, Quartermaster-Sergeant?" he exclaimed
irritably, gazing at some papers in front of him, while he filled his
pipe.

"Yes, sir; and two more with wheels buckled, and three that free-wheel
both ways."

"What d'you mean--free-wheel both ways?"

"The pedals rotate, sir, with great speed, but the bicycle remains
motionless." When a man habitually calls an armchair, A chair,
arm--Officers, for the use of, one--his conversation is apt to become
stilted.

"How were the wheels buckled?" demanded the Captain when he had digested
this great thought.

"Two of the officers, sir--playing what I believe they called bicycle
polo with a brick and two pick-helves--had--er--a slight mishap."

"When did it happen?"

"Er--after dinner, sir, one night." The N.C.O. looked tactfully out of
the window.

The officer