t us forget all about that, such
a thing is really only "very small beer" indeed.'

"'Humph!' grunted Tommy. 'It was a blighted small 'alf crown, too.'

"'Sit down,' he continued, clutching me by the wrist and dragging me
into a vacant chair. It was not in champagne, of course, that we drank
each other's health. But you can always trust old Tommy to have a little
pig's ear hidden somewhere. 'What's the matter with a bottle of Bass?'
says he to me. ''Tis against ole Kitchener's wishes,' says I. 'Of course
it is,' says Tommy; 'and wot is more, it's the ruin of dear ole
England--God bless it!' 'Rot yar innards--let's go and 'ave some,' I
says bein' always one to reason out matters to a logical conclusion.

"There is a large slag heap in the neighbourhood of Quality Street where
the French and Germans met early in the war. They wanted each other's
company exclusive on this here heap. Well, they met, and fell to arguin'
whether the French should 'ave it as a mounting for a few machine-guns
or the Germans should keep it for sniping purposes. Hence the air was
soon clouded with shells, shrapnel, and all other deadly diseases.
Seeing the children had got over their shyness in this little fright and
had really played quite a good game, this particular slag heap was
bearing abundant fruit in the way of trophies. Furthermore, Tommy
suggested that it would be indeed nice if we could make our way there
one evening and collect a few German helmets, bayonets, and other
curiosities for the old people at home.

"As a result of our confabulation we found ourselves about ten that
night crawling up a hedge towards the slag heap in question. When we did
get there we went and lost our blighted selves. How long we were
crawling and twisting about that Gawd-forsaken heap or which way our
lines lay I'd no means of knowing. But poor old Tommy rolled down a bank
with an armful of German helmets and other trophies, making a noise like
a fire engine galloping up the Mile End Road. Then suddenly one of those
German flares fell on the ground about a hundred yards away, and all
things, including Tommy and I, shone out in their naked splendour. Then
you can take it from me we _did_ see where we were.

"I thought Tommy was having a bad attack of epileptic fits for a moment,
till it transpired that he had flumped down on a dead Boche in
endeavouring to escape the searching glare of the flare. After the
thing had burnt its giddy self out Tommy crawled