stened idly.
A small, pale boy in a lieutenant's uniform was violently upholding
certain rules while the officer next to Zaidos disputed him smilingly.
They argued pleasantly, but with the most intense earnestness.

"Who is that straw-colored chap?" Velo asked the writer beside him.

"Across?" questioned the scribbler. "We call him 'Sister Anne.' You
know she was the lady in Bluebeard's yarn that kept looking out the
window. He is always sticking his head out of the trenches, to see
what he can see. He's going to get his some day."

"Don't you know his real name?" asked Velo. "He acts as though he
thought he was somebody of importance."

"Why, when you come down to it, I suppose perhaps he is when he is at
home," said the man. "He's a jolly good sort, though. He's the Earl
of Craycourt."

"And who is the chap beside my cousin?" asked Velo, steadying his voice
with difficulty.

"The Prince of Teck's second son," answered the writer. Velo's
curiosity rather disgusted him. "Anybody else you would like to know
about?"

"Well, who are you?" said Velo, trying to get back.

"Your very humble servant, John Smith," he said. He slid the pencil
down into his puttee and stood up, bowing. He did not ask Velo for his
name but, closing the pad, strolled off and slid an arm around the neck
of the second son of the Prince of Teck.

Velo for once felt small, but he jotted young John Smith down on his
black list for further reference! As for the others, he could not get
over the fact of their noble birth. He stood staring at the group.
Zaidos was as usual in the center of things, having the best sort of a
time. That was Zaidos' luck, thought Velo. He stared at the bent head
of "John Smith," bending over the "second son of the Prince of Teck."
For a plain "John Smith" he seemed exceedingly chummy with the young
nobleman. Velo was a natural-born toady. True worth, real nobility of
mind and soul meant nothing to him. But he did not lack assurance.
After a moment he braced up and joined the group where Zaidos and Lord
Craycourt, who answered willingly to the nickname "Sister Anne" were
swapping school yarns and the others were in gales of laughter.

And at that moment, without warning, in the arm of the trench where
Velo had just been sitting, a great shell dropped and exploded with the
noise of pandemonium. A wave of dirt and splinters were pushed towards
them. As the air cleared, there was the sound of a feeb