mber of horses and warm penetrating odour of dung.

"Now, 3008, you may smoke," I said, addressing myself, and drew out my
cigarette case. My matches were quite dry; I lit one and was just
putting it to my cigarette when one of the horses began prancing at
the other end of the building. I just had a view of the animal coming
towards me when the match went out and left me in the total darkness.
I did not like the look of the horse, and I wished that it had been
better bound when its master left it. It was coming nearer and now
pawing the floor with its hoof. I edged closer to the door; if it were
not for the shells I would go outside. Why was that horse allowed to
remain loose in the stable? I tried to light another match, but it
snapped in my fingers. The horse was very near me now; I could feel
its presence, it made no noise, it seemed to be shod with velvet. The
moment was tense, I shouted: "Whoa there, whoa!"

It shot out its hind legs and a pair of hoofs clattered on the wall
beside me.

"Whoa, there! whoa there! confound you!" I growled, and was outside in
a twinkling and into the arms of a transport sergeant.

"What the devil--'oo are yer?" he blurted out. (p. 170)

"Did you think I was a shell?" I couldn't help asking. "I'm sorry," I
continued, "I came in here out of that beastly shelling."

"Very wise," said the sergeant, getting quickly into the stable.

"One of your horses is loose," I said. "Do you know where the London
Irish is put up here?"

"Down the road on the right," he told me, "you come to a large gate
there on the left and you cross a garden. It's a big buildin'."

"Thank you. Good night."

"Good night, sonny."

I went in by the wrong gate; there were so many on the left, and found
myself in a dark spinney where the rain was dripping heavily from the
branches of the trees. I was just on the point of turning back to the
road when one of our batteries concealed in the place opened fire, and
a perfect hell of flame burst out around me. I flopped to earth with
graceless precipitancy, and wallowed in mud. "It's all up 3008, you've
done it now," I muttered, and wondered vaguely whether I was partly or
wholly dead. The sharp smell of cordite filled the air and caused (p. 171)
a tickling sensation in my throat that almost choked me. When I
scrambled to my feet again and found myself uninjured, a strange
dexterity had entered my legs; I was outside the gate in the space of
a