He starts by being playful; but if not suppressed at once,
he gets rough; and that, of course, spoils all the harmony of the
proceedings. So I cordially commend your idea of the one-fifty-five
turn, sir."
"I'll see what can be done," says the major. "I think the best plan
would be a couple of hours' solid frightfulness, from every battery we
can switch on. To-morrow afternoon, perhaps, but I'll let you know.
You'll have to clear out of this bit of trench altogether, as we shall
shoot pretty low. So long!"
III
It is six o'clock next evening, and peace reigns over our trench. This
is the hour at which one usually shells aeroplanes--or rather, at
which the Germans shell ours, for their own seldom venture out in
broad daylight. But this evening, although two or three are up in the
blue, buzzing inquisitively over the enemy's lines, their attendant
escort of white shrapnel puffs is entirely lacking. Far away behind
the German lines a house is burning fiercely.
"The Hun is a bit _piano_ to-night," observes Captain Blaikie,
attacking his tea.
"The Hun has been rather firmly handled this afternoon," replies
Captain Wagstaffe. "I think he has had an eye-opener. There are no
flies on our Divisional Artillery."
Bobby Little heaved a contented sigh. For two hours that afternoon he
had sat, half-deafened, while six-inch shells skimmed the parapet in
both directions, a few feet above his head.
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