you," he exclaimed, in a voice shrill with indignation, "that
these ---- helmets are some ---- use!"

"And I tell _you_," retorted James earnestly, "that these ---- helmets
are no ---- ---- use!"

When two reasonable persons arrive at a controversial _impasse_, they
usually agree to differ and go their several ways. But in "K(1)" we
prefer practical solutions. The upholder of helmets hastily thrust his
upon his head.

"I'll show you, Jimmy!" he announced, and clambered up on the
firing-step.

"And I'll ---- well show _you_, Wullie!" screamed James, doing
likewise.

Simultaneously the two zealots thrust their heads over the parapet,
and awaited results. These came. The rifles of two Boche snipers rang
out, and both demonstrators fell heavily backwards into the arms of
their supporters.

By all rights they ought to have been killed. But they were both very
much alive. Each turned to the other triumphantly, and exclaimed,--

"I tellt ye so!"

There was a hole right through the helmet of Jimmy, the unbeliever.
The fact that there was not also a hole through his head was due to
his forethought in having put on a tam-o'-shanter underneath. The net
result was a truncated "toorie." Wullie's bullet had struck his helmet
at a more obtuse angle, and had glanced off, as the designer of the
smooth exterior had intended it to do.

At first glance, the contest was a draw. But subsequent investigation
elicited the fact that Jimmy in his backward fall had bitten his
tongue to the effusion of blood. The verdict was therefore awarded, on
points, to Wullie, and the spectators dispersed in an orderly manner
just as the platoon sergeant came round the traverse to change the
sentry.

II

We have occupied our own present trenches since January. There was
a time when this sector of the line was regarded as a Vale of Rest.
Bishops were conducted round with impunity. Members of Parliament
came out for the week-end, and returned to their constituents with
first-hand information about the horrors of war. Foreign journalists,
and sight-seeing parties of munition-workers, picnicked in Bunghole
Wood. In the village behind the line, if a chance shell removed tiles
from the roof of a house, the owner, greatly incensed, mounted a
ladder and put in some fresh ones.

But that is all over now. "K(1)"--hard-headed men of business,
bountifully endowed with munitions--have arrived upon the scene, and
the sylvan peace of the surrounding dis