wondered how
I could ever go on living with them. And now--I find myself wondering
how I am ever going to live without them. We shall not see their
like again. The new lot--present lot--are splendid fellows. They are
probably better soldiers. Certainly they are more uniformly trained.
But there was a piquancy about our old scamps in 'K(1)' that was
unique--priceless--something the world will never see again."

"I don't know," said Bobby thoughtfully. "That Cockney regiment which
lay beside us at Albert last summer was a pretty priceless lot. Do you
remember a pair of fat fellows in their leading platoon? We called
them Fortnum and Mason!"

"I do--particularly Fortnum. Go on!"

"Well, their bit of trench was being shelled one day, and Fortnum, who
was in number one bay with five other men, kept shouting out to Mason,
who was round a traverse and out of sight, to enquire how he was
getting on. 'Are you all right, Bill?' 'Are you _sure_ you're all
right, Bill?' 'Are you _still_ all right, Bill?' and so on. At last
Bill, getting fed up with this unusual solicitude, yelled back:
'What's all the anxiety abaht, eh?' And Fortnum put his head round the
traverse and explained. 'We're getting up a little sweepstake in our
bay,' he said, 'abaht the first casuality, and I've drawn you, ole
son!'"

Wagstaffe chuckled.

"That must have been the regiment that had the historic poker party,"
he said.

"What yarn was that?"

"I heard it from the Brigadier--four times, to be exact. Five men off
duty were sitting in a dug-out playing poker. A gentleman named 'Erb
had just gone to the limit on his hand, when a rifle-grenade came into
the dug-out from somewhere and did him in. While they were waiting for
the stretcher-bearers, one of the other players picked up 'Erb's hand
and examined it. Then he laid it down again, and said: 'It doesn't
matter, chaps. Poor 'Erb wouldn't a made it, anyway. I 'ad four
queens.'"

"Tommy has his own ideas of fun, I'll admit," said Bobby. "Do you
remember those first trenches of ours at Festubert? There was a dead
Frenchman buried in the parapet--you know how they used to bury people
in those days?"

"I did notice it. Go on."

"Well, this poor chap's hand stuck out, just about four feet from the
floor of the trench. My dug-out was only a few yards away, and I never
saw a member of my platoon go past that spot without shaking the hand
and saying, Good-morning, Alphonse!' I had it built up with sand