ine opening and shutting like a concertina this morning.

_An iron-grey_. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs was
goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the way
you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight line, Monty
avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken.

_Monty_. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp.

_Canadian dun_. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me smile. Why, out
West we got flies that--

_Iron-grey_. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as big as
bull-dogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a limb. Many a
time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a foal in their
jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' that whin one of the
effete European variety is afther ticklin' you in the short hairs you
step very free an' flippant, Johnny acushla.

_A brown horse_. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got a pal at
G.H.Q., haven't you?

_Monty_. Oh, yes, my young brother. He's got a job on HAIG'S personal
Staff now, wears a red brow-band and all that--ahem! Of course he tells
me a thing or two when we meet, but in the strictest confidence, you
understand.

_Brown_. Quite; but did he say anything about the end of the War?

_Monty_. Well, not precisely, that is not exactly, excepting that he
says that it's pretty certain now that it--er--well, that it will end.

_Brown_. That's good news. Thanks, Monty.

_Monty_. Not a bit, old thing. Don't mention it.

_Iron-grey_. 'Tis a great comfort to us to know that the War will ind,
if not in our day, annyway some time.

_Canadian dun_. You bet. Gee, I wish it was all over an' I was home in
the foothills with the brown wool and pink prairie roses underfoot and
the Chinook layin' my mane over.

_Iron-grey_. Faith, but the County Cork would suit me completely; a
roomy loose-box wid straw litter an' a leak-proof roof.

_Tubby_. Yes, with full meals coming regularly.

_A bay mare_. I've got a two-year-old in Devon I'd like to see again.

_Monty_. I've no quarrel with Leicestershire myself.

_Gunpack horse_. Garn! Wot abaht good old London?

_Chestnut_. Steady, Alf, what are you grousing about? You never had a
full meal in your life until Lord DERBY pulled you out of that coster
barrow and pushed you into the Army.

_Tubby_. A full meal in the Army--help!

_Brown_. Listen to our living skeleton. Do you chaps remember that
afternoon he had to himself in an oat-field up Plug St