to-night, but never, on your life, will they pass me."

Tommy chuckled. He had been through it all himself. Every man has it the
first time that he goes on any of these dangerous duties. I can frankly say
I disliked the listening-post duty that first time. Nothing happened of
course. There was no killing, but it was nervy work. Later, in common with
other fellows, I was able to go on listening-post with the same nonchalance
as my first coster friend. It lies in whether one is used to the thing or
not. Nothing comes easy at first, especially in the trenches. Later on, it
is all in the day's work.

When our relief came we crawled back to our trench and spent the night in
our dugouts. Next day we got a change of rations. We had "Maconochie." "He"
is by way of a stew. Stew with a tin jacket. It bears the nomenclature of
its inventor and maker, although Maconochie's is a firm. This is an
English ration and after bully beef for weeks, it is a pleasant enough
change.

The weather was fine: clear overhead, blue sky and just a hint of frost,
though it was not very cold. After dinner the first day in the trenches, I
suddenly noticed an excitement among the English soldiers. We became
excited, too, and strained to see what was happening.

There, sheer ahead of us, darting, twisting, turning, was a monoplane right
over the German trench. It was a British plane, and taking inconceivably
risky chances. We could see the airman on the steering seat wave to us. He
seemed like a gigantic mosquito, bent on tormenting the Huns. Their bullets
spurted round him. He spiraled and sank, sank and spiraled. Nothing ever
hit him. The Boches got wildly hysterical in their shooting. Every rifle
pointed upward. They forgot where they were; they forgot us; they fired
rapidly, round after round. And still the plane rose and fell, flitted
higher and looped lower. It was a magnificent display. We could see the
aviator wave more clearly now; his broad smile almost made us imagine we
heard his exultant laugh.

"Who is it? What is it?" We boys gasped out the questions breathlessly.

"'Ere he comes; watch 'im, mate; watch 'im. 'E's the Mad Major. Look,
look--he's looping! Gawd in 'eaven, they've got 'im. No, blimey, 'e's
blinkin' luck itself. 'E's up again."

"Who is the Mad Major?" I asked, but got no answer. Every eye was on the
wild career of the plane.

The Germans got more reckless. They stood in their trenches. We fired. We
got them by the one