st when chances
come, like when a pal who's got some gargle, and feels good towards you
says, 'Lend us your cup,' or a peddling wine-seller, either. My young
bucks, listen to what I tell you; you'll always find it good--put your
cup in your pocket."

"No fear," says Lamuse, "you won't see me put my cup in my pocket;
damned silly idea, no more or less. I'd a sight sooner sling it on a
strap with a hook."

"Fasten it on a greatcoat button, like the gas-helmet bag, that's a lot
better; for suppose you take off your accouterments and there's any
wine passing, you look soft."

"I've got a Boche drinking-cup," says Barque; "it's flat, so it goes
into a side pocket if you like, or it goes very well into a
cartridge-pouch, once you've fired the damn things off or pitched them
into a bag."

"A Boche cup's nothing special," says Pepin; "it won't stand up, it's
just lumber."

"You wait and see, maggot-snout," says Tirette, who is something of a
psychologist. "If we attack this time, same as the adjutant seemed to
hint, perhaps you'll find a Boche cup, and then it'll be something
special!"

"The adjutant may have said that," Eudore observes, "but he doesn't
know."

"It holds more than a half-pint, the Boche cup," remarks Cocon, "seeing
that the exact capacity of the half-pint is marked in the cup
three-quarters way up; and it's always good for you to have a big one,
for if you've got a cup that only just holds a half-pint, then so that
you can get your half-pint of coffee or wine or holy water or what not,
it's get to be filled right up, and they don't ever do it at
serving-out, and if they do, you spill it."

"I believe you that they don't fill it," says Paradis, exasperated by
the recollection of that ceremony. "The quartermaster-sergeant, he
pours it with his blasted finger in your cup and gives it two raps on
its bottom. Result, you get a third, and your cup's in mourning with
three black bands on top of each other."

"Yes," says Barque, "that's true; but you shouldn't have a cup too big
either, because the chap that's pouring it out for you, he suspects
you, and let's it go in damned drops, and so as not to give you more
than your measure he gives you less, and you can whistle for it, with
your tureen in your fists."

Volpatte puts back in his pockets, one by one, the items of his
display. When he came to the purse, he looked at it with an air of deep
compassion.

"He's damnably flat, poor chap!" He counted th