Well, I am off to the Mess. See you later,
everybody!"
"Meanwhile," inquired Wagstaffe, as the party settled down again,
"what is brewing here! I haven't seen the adjutant yet."
"You'll see him soon enough," replied Blaikie grimly. He glanced over
his shoulder towards the four civilian card-players. They looked
bourgeois enough and patriotic enough, but it is wise to take no
risks in a cafe, as a printed notice upon the war, signed by the
Provost-Marshal, was careful to point out. "Come for a stroll," he
said.
Presently the two captains found themselves in a shady boulevard
leading to the outskirts of the town. Darkness was falling, and soon
would be intense; for lights are taboo in the neighbourhood of the
firing line.
"Have we finished that new trench in front of our wire?" asked
Wagstaffe.
"Yes. It is the best thing we have done yet. Divisional Headquarters
are rightly pleased about it."
Blaikie gave details. The order had gone forth that a new trench was
to be constructed in front of our present line--a hundred yards in
front. Accordingly, when night fell, two hundred unconcerned heroes
went forth, under their subalterns, and, squatting down in line
along a white tape (laid earlier in the evening by our imperturbable
friends, Lieutenants Box and Cox, of the Royal Engineers), proceeded
to dig the trench. Thirty yards ahead of them, facing the curious eyes
of countless Bosches, lay a covering party in extended order, ready to
repel a rush.
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