infectious if it were not immediately
dissipated, and I blurted out, "Well, for God's sake, don't keep us all
in suspense; how in hell are we going to go on until we know what you
are thinking about?"

His answer made me sorry I spoke.

"I was just thinking," said he, "that my number is up."

This is an expression of the men on the Western Front when they have a
premonition that their time on earth is short. A sudden fear smote me,
but I banished the thought and started jollying him profanely.

"Now, Corporal, you know what damn nonsense it is to talk that way! Do
you want to wish it on yourself?"

"No, Grant, I should say not, but I can't help thinking it, all the
same."

"Yes, Lawrence," said McLean. "For God's sake don't wish any trouble on
us more than we have got."

Billy McLean was my dearest pal; we had enlisted together and had formed
one of those attachments that men sometimes make and is only severed by
death, and we shared each other's most intimate thoughts. The words had
scarcely died on McLean's lips when--Woo-o-f! Bang! Bang! and shells
commenced to land all about us.

The spot we had selected to rest on was under observation; Fritz had
evidently become aware of the fact that it was our usual course in
coming to the trench and had registered the place for a target, just as
he registered battery roads, ammunition depots, railway heads, sleeping
quarters,--everywhere and anywhere that exhibited a trace of life
immediately became an observation target and was subject to a hail of
shell and shrapnel any hour of the day or night.

We were all slightly stunned by the dose, but recovered our senses in a
minute or so.

"All right, fellows, let's be going," I said, and up we jumped, all
except Lawrence.

"Come on, Corporal, finish your dream in the dugout." He made no reply.
With a sickening at my heart I went over and put my hand on his face; it
was wet with his life's blood; he was shot through the head. As
hurriedly and as gently as possible we laid him in a hollow place and
started for the ridge; we had no time for even a prayer, as we were
being treated to a fair-sized fusillade, and ducking and dodging, this
way and that, we made our way to the top as quickly as every ounce of
energy left in our legs would permit, and rolled, tumbled, scrambled and
fell--any old way--down the front side of the ridge into the ditch at
the bottom, that was dignified by the high-sounding title of trench. It
was a