l, "that an English
shilling would fit a German meter. Probably a mark would be required,
and I have only a franc. Besides, sir, do you think that--"

"Surgical operation at seven-thirty, sharp!" intimated the major to
the medical officer, who entered the dug-out at that moment. "For
our friend here"--indicating the bewildered Waddell. "Sydney Smith's
prescription! Now, what about breakfast?"

* * * * *

About nine o'clock the enemy indulges in what is usually described,
most disrespectfully, as "a little morning hate"--in other words, a
bombardment. Beginning with a _hors d'oeuvre_ of shrapnel along the
reserve trench--much to the discomfort of Headquarters, who are
shaving--he proceeds to "search" a tract of woodland in our immediate
rear, his quarry being a battery of motor machine-guns, which has
wisely decamped some hours previously. Then, after scientifically
"traversing" our second line, which has rashly advertised its position
and range by cooking its breakfast over a smoky fire, he brings the
display to a superfluous conclusion by dropping six "Black Marias"
into the deserted ruins of a village not far behind us. After that
comes silence; and we are able, in our hot, baking trenches, assisted
by clouds of bluebottles, to get on with the day's work.

This consists almost entirely in digging. As already stated, these are
bad trenches. The parapet is none too strong--at one point it has been
knocked down for three days running--the communication trenches are
few and narrow, and there are not nearly enough dug-outs. Yesterday
three men were wounded; and owing to the impossibility of carrying a
stretcher along certain parts of the trench, they had to be conveyed
to the rear in their ground-sheets--bumped against projections, bent
round sharp corners, and sometimes lifted, perforce, bodily into view
of the enemy. So every man toils with a will, knowing full well that
in a few hours' time he may prove to have been his own benefactor.
Only the sentries remain at the parapets. They no longer expose
themselves, as at night, but take advantage of the laws of optical
reflection, as exemplified by the trench periscope. (This, in spite
of its grand title, is nothing but a tiny mirror clipped on to a
bayonet.)

At half-past twelve comes dinner--bully-beef, with biscuit and
jam--after which each tired man, coiling himself up in the trench, or
crawling underground, according to the accommoda