s breathlessly, "but the C.O. gave
particular orders that this part of the trench was on no account to be
used for trench-mortar fire. You see, we are only about seventy yards
from the Bosche trenches here--"

"I know," explains the T.M.O.; "that is why I came."

"But it is most important," continues the platoon commander, still
quoting glibly from an entirely imaginary mandate of the C.O., "that
no retaliatory shell fire should be attracted here. Most serious
for the whole Brigade, if this bit of parapet got pushed over. Now,
there's a topping place about ten traverses away. You can lob them
over from there beautifully. Come along."

And with fair words and honeyed phrases he elbows the dispirited band
to a position--for his platoon--of comparative inoffensiveness.

The Trench Mortar Officer drifts on, and presently, with the uneasy
assurance of the proprietor of a punch-and-judy show who has
inadvertently strayed into Park Lane, attempts once more to give his
unpopular entertainment. This time his shrift is even shorter, for he
encounters Major Kemp--never at his sunniest in the small hours of the
morning.

Field officers have no need to employ the language of diplomacy when
dealing with subalterns.

"No, you _don't_, my lad!" announces the Major. "Not if I can help it!
Take it away! Take your darned liver-pill out of this! Burn, it! Bury
it! Eat it! But not here! Creep away!"

The abashed procession complies. This time they find a section
of trench in charge of a mere corporal. Here, before any one of
sufficient standing can be summoned to deal with the situation, the
Trench Mortar Officer seizes his opportunity, and discharges three
bombs over the parapet. He then retires defiantly to his dug-out.

But it is an Ishmaelitish existence.

III

So much for the alleviations which professional enthusiasm bestows.
Now for a few alleviations proper. These are Sleep, Food, and
Literature.

Sleep is the rarest of these. We seldom get more than a few hours at
a time; but it is astonishing how readily one learns to slumber in
unlikely surroundings--upon damp earth, in cramped positions, amid
ceaseless noise, in clothes and boots that have not been removed for
days. One also acquires the priceless faculty of losing no time in
dropping off.

As for food, we grumble at times, just as people at home are grumbling
at the Savoy, or Lockhart's. It is the Briton's habit so to do. But in
moments of repletion we are fa