brazier fire boiling some tea for
his captain, when the warning click sounded from the German trenches.
Instinctively he clapped the cover on the canteen and dived for shelter,
while the great, black trench-mortar bomb came twisting and turning down
through the air. It fell to ground with a dull thud, there was a
second's silence, then an appalling explosion. The roof of the dug-out
in which "Pongo" had found refuge sagged ominously, the supporting beam
cracked, and the heavy layer of earth and bricks and branches subsided
on the crouching man.

It took five minutes to dig him out, and he was near to suffocation when
they dragged him into the trench. For a moment he looked wonderingly
about him, and then a smile came to his face. "That's what I likes about
this 'ere life, there ain't no need to get bored. No need for pictcher
shows or pubs, there's amusements for you for nothing." And as he got to
his feet, a scowl replaced the smile. "I bet I knows the blighter what
sent that there bomb," he growled. "I guess it's old Fritz what used to
'ang out in that old shop in Walworth Road--'im what I palmed off a bad
'arf-crown on. 'E always said as 'ow 'e'd get 'is own back."

Five minutes later he had exchanged the battered wreck of his canteen
for a new one belonging to Private Adams, who was asleep farther down
the trench, and had set to boiling a fresh lot of tea for his captain.

"Darned funny things, bombs and things like that," he began presently.
"You can't trust them no'ow. Look at ole Sergeant Allen f'r example. 'E
went 'ome on leave after a year out 'ere, and 'e took an ornary time
fuse from a shell with 'im to put on 'is mantelpiece. And the very first
night as 'e was 'ome, the blamed thing fell down when 'e wasn't lookin',
and bit 'im in the leg, so that 'e 'ad to spend all 'is time in
'orspital. They're always explodin' when they didn't ought to. Did I
ever tell you about me brother Bert?"

A chorus in the negative from the other men who stood round the brazier
encouraged him to continue.

"Well, Bert was always a bit silly like, and I thought as 'ow 'e'd do
somethin' foolish when 'e got to the front. Sure 'nough, the very first
bloomin' night 'e went into a trench, 'e was filin' along it when 'e
slipped and sat right on a box of bombs. It's gorspel what I'm tellin'
you--nine of the blighters went off, and 'e wasn't killed. 'E's 'ome in
England now in some 'orspital, and 'e's as fit as a lord. The only thing