e
this?"

"Maybe 'E can't help it."

"And the war started because it had to be?

"It just came--like a war-baby." (p. 093)

Another pause.

"Yer write songs, don't yer?" Bill suddenly asked.

"Sometimes."

"Would yer write me one, just a little one?" he continued. "There was
a bird (girl) where I used to be billeted at St. Albans, and I would
like to send 'er a bit of poetry."

"You've fallen in love?" I ventured.

"No, not so bad as that--"

"You've not fallen in love."

"Well its like this," said my mate, "I used to be in 'er 'ouse and she
made 'ome-made torfee."

"Made it well?"

"Blimey, yes; 'twas some stuff, and I used to get 'eaps of it. She
used to slide down the banisters, too. Yer should 'ave seen it, Pat.
It almost made me write poetry myself."

"I'll try and do something for you," I said. "Have you been in the
dug-out yet?"

"Yes, it's not such a bad place, but there's seven of us in it," said
Bill, "it's 'ot as 'ell. But we wouldn't be so bad if Z---- was out of
it. I don't like the feller."

"Why?" I asked, Z---- was one of our thirteen, but he couldn't (p. 094)
pull with us. For some reason or other we did not like him.

"Oh, I don't like 'im, that's all," was the answer. "Z---- tries to
get the best of everything. Give ye a drink from 'is water bottle when
your own's empty; 'e wouldn't. I wouldn't trust 'im that much." He
clicked his thumb and middle finger together as he spoke, and without
another word he vanished into the dug-out.

On the whole the members of our section, divergent as the poles in
civil life, agree very well. But the same does not hold good in the
whole regiment; the public school clique and the board school clique
live each in a separate world, and the line of demarcation between
them is sharply drawn. We all live in similar dug-outs, but we bring a
new atmosphere into them. In one, full of the odour of Turkish
cigarettes, the spoken English is above suspicion; in another,
stinking of regimental shag, slang plays skittles with our language.
Only in No. 3 is there two worlds blent in one; our platoon officer
says that we are a most remarkable section, consisting of literary men
and babies.

"Stand-to!" (p. 095)

I rose to my feet, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and promptly hit my
head a resounding blow on the roof. The impact caused me to take a
pace forward, and