might be left back
there yerself decoratin' about ten square yards of trench.'

'Tut-tut-tut-tut' went the maxim behind them again.

'Tutt-tutt yourself, you stammer-an'-spit blighter,' said the
disconsolate mouth-organ loser, and 'D'you think we can chance a smoke
yet?' as the platoon moved out on the road and behind the shelter of
some ruined house-walls.

Platoon by platoon the company filed out and formed up roughly behind
the houses. The order to move came at last and the ranked fours swung
off, tramping slowly and stolidly in silence until some one struck up a
song--

'_Crump, crump, crump, says the big bustin' shells----_

A chorus of protest and a 'Give the shells a rest' stopped the song on
the first line, and it was to the old regimental tune, the canteen and
sing-song favourite, 'The Sergeant's Return,' that the Royal Blanks
settled itself into its pack shoulder-straps and tramped on.

I'm the same ol' feller that you always used to know--
Oh! Oh! you know you used to know--
An' it's years since we parted way down on Plymouth Hoe--
Oh! Oh! So many years ago.
I've roamed around the world, but I've come back to you,
For my 'eart 'as never altered, my 'eart is ever true.
[Prolonged and noisy imitation of a kiss.]
_Ain't_ that got the taste you always used to know?

The colonel was talking to the adjutant in the road as the companies
moved past, and he noted with some concern the ragged ranks and
listless movement of the first lot to pass.

'They're looking badly tucked up,' he said.

'They've had a cruel day,' said the adjutant.

'Yes, the worst kind,' agreed the O.C. 'And I doubt if they can stand
that sort of thing so well now. The old regiment is not what it used
to be. We're so filled up with recruits now--youngsters too. . . .
Here's B company--about the rawest of the lot and caught the worst of
it to-day. How d'you think they stand it?'

But it was B company that answered the question for itself and the old
regiment, singing the answer softly to itself and the O.C. as it
trudged past--

I'm the same ol' feller that you always used to know--
Oh! Oh! you know you used to know. . . .

'Gad, Malcolm,' said the O.C. straightening his own shoulders, 'they'll
do, they'll do.'

. . . My 'eart 'as never altered, my 'eart is ever true,

the remnant of No. 2 Platoon sang past him.

'They haven't shaken us yet,' said the O.C. proudly.

'Tutt, tutt!' gru