did not pursue the topic. "Well, what about these six that
have been lost?"

"Completely destroyed by shell-fire," said the C.Q.M.S. firmly. "I have
prepared a statement of what happened for your perusal and signature."
He handed the officer a written paper and respectfully withdrew a few
paces to avoid any semblance of coercion.

"'The six bicycles were placed on the morning of the 10th ult. against
the entrance to the R.E. Dump at A.21, C.2.4. It would appear that
during the absence of the riders a hostile shell of large calibre fell on
the six said bicycles, completely demolishing them, for when the riders
returned after the day's work merely a few fragments remained scattered
round the shell crater.'"

The Captain read it over slowly, and then, in tones of awe, a murmured
"Wonderful" wafted through the office.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" The N.C.O. was again at his side.

"I said wonderful, Quartermaster-Sergeant--quite wonderful. Do you think
they'll swallow it?"

"It has been done before, sir." The tone was non-committal. "And one of
the six was undoubtedly badly punctured by a stray rifle bullet before we
lost it--er--that is, before it was finally destroyed by shell-fire."

"Right." With the air of a man who communes with great destinies, the
Captain signed his name. "Anything more?"

"Nothing at present, sir. The question of the consumption of Candles,
Tallow dip, Pounds Twenty-four, stolen from our yard by the 940th
Tunnelling Company has come back again with remarks from the Chief
Ordnance Officer at the Base--but it will wait until you come back from
the trenches."

"I'm glad of that," remarked the Captain, rising. "I'm not feeling very
strong this morning, and candles, tallow dip--especially lbs. 24 of
them--would cause a relapse. Orderly"--he strolled to the door--"my
bicycle, please."

A few minutes later he was riding slowly down the road towards the place
where there was "a war on." A cool mist hung over the fields on each
side of him, and in the early morning stray cobwebs glistening with
moisture brushed lightly across his face.

"_B'jour, monsieur._" A woman standing in the door of a roadside
_estaminet_ greeted him as he passed--a woman undisturbed by the guns
that at times roared close by; a woman whose house was one concentrated
draught, which whistled through what had once been walls and now were
holes held together by odd bricks.

He returned the greeting and rode on