n Fracasse, who
had a set frown of apprehension which came of a professional knowledge
not theirs. Little Peterkin, warmed by the autumn sunlight, began to
believe in his star. If there were to be a special dispensation
providing shell craters and the reverse walls of redoubts for him, he
might retain his reputation for heroism.

The sand still working its way downward between Pilzer's bare skin and
his undershirt irritated him to unusual restlessness of ambition for
glory and bronze crosses. He was the strong man of his company, now
that Eugene Aronson was dead. He must prove his importance. An
inspiration made him leap to his feet. This brought his head within a
foot of the top of the parapet, with an enemy's rifle barrel in easy
reach. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was the type who must precede
action with a boast; a bite with a growl. Let all see that he was about
to do a gallant, clever thing.

"Watch me snatch that rifle!" he announced.

"No, you don't! Get down!" snapped Fracasse. "We aren't inviting
hand-grenades. It's a wonder that we have escaped so far."

"Hand-grenades!" gasped Peterkin, going white.

But nobody observed his pallor. Every one else was gasping,
"Hand-grenades!" under his breath; or, if not, his thoughts were
shrieking, "Hand-grenades!" There was a restless movement, a wistful
look to the rear.

"Keep quiet!" whispered Fracasse. "Let us hope it isn't known that we're
here."

They became as still as men of stone.

"Well, if they are going to throw grenades then they will throw them!"
exclaimed Peterkin with the bravery of fear. He must do or say something
worthy of a hero, he thought, in order to prove that he was not as
scared as he knew he had looked and still felt.

"You have the right sort of _sang-froid_, Peter Kinderling!" whispered
Fracasse. "And you, Pilzer, showed a proper spirit, too, if wrongly
directed."

Under cover of this favor, Peterkin drew a little out of line, making a
great pretence of stretching his legs and yawning--yawning with a
sincerely dropped jaw and a quivering lip. He pressed his chin against
the ground and this stopped the quivering. Also, he was in a position to
watch the parapet closely and to make a quick spring.

Fatalism had become suspense--suspense without action to take their
minds off the prospect, the suspense of death lurking in a cloud which
might break in a lightning flash! They thought that they knew the full
gamut of horrors; but