o the--why the---- These blamed ole Turks think my head's
a coconut," said Bill.

"I hope they'll never hit your head," remarked Claud.

"Why?"

"It's too full----"

"Of water," interjected Paddy.

"Yes, there _would_ be a flood," concluded Claud, as he lit his pipe.
Just then an order was sent down to pass all empty jam tins to the rear.

"Wot's the jam tins for?"

"Fly traps," said Paddy.

"'Spect we'll have to dig the lead out of the dead men's bodies next,"
groused Bill, as he went down the trenches to collect the fly-covered
jam tins. These were sent down to the beach in bags, causing many a
grouse on the way. Rumour had it that some Jew had made a contract for
the empty tins, another yarn was that they were for growing flowers
round the General's dug-out. But mysterious and resourceful are the
ways of the General Staff! These jam tins were redelivered to The
Kangaroo Marines next day in the shape of bombs.

"Well I'm jiggered!" said Bill. "First they puts jam in tins, next
they puts bombs in them."

"And then they'll shove you in them," interjected Claud.

"What for?"

"Prime Australian beef, fresh tinned, straight from the Dardanelles.
That would look well on a label."

"Yis couldn't do that with Bill," said Paddy.

"Why?"

"He's a bit high----"

Bang! came a Turkish bomb at that moment, scattering the group into
their shelters below the parapets.

"Ye dirty, mouldy-faced sons of dog-eatin', blue-nosed spalpeens--Oi'll
bomb yis," roared Paddy, gripping a jam tin and lighting the fuse.

Bang! it went. Bang! Bang! Bang! went more.

"_Some_ jam," said Bill, as he watched through the periscope. And then
they heard moaning, shrieks, and shouts of "Allah, Allah."

"More jam," ordered Bill. And more jam they received. It wasn't
sweet, and certainly unpalatable. And it didn't stick. Tins labelled
"Apricot," "Marmalade," "Black Currant," and "Raspberry," went hurtling
through the air, then burst in a very nasty way above the poor old
Turks' trenches. This battle of jam bombs made the Turks much more
respectful for a time. Indeed, one of the officers, who must have been
a sportsman, flung over a note, on which was written:

"DEAR AUSTRALIANS,--We like jam--in fact, we could do with a tin of it,
but not that dam--jam--jammy stuff you were putting over last
night.--Yours fraternally,

"YUSSEF BEY."

"By Jove! He's a sport--let's chuck him a tin," said Claud. And over
it w