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The captain called for high explosive, and the signaler shouted on the order. "Exploseef," repeated 'Enery Irving, again airing his French. "That's high explosive." "Garsong, twopennorth of exploseef soup," chanted Robinson. Then the order was sent down for rapid fire, and a moment later the battery burst out in running quadruple reports, and the shells streamed whistling overhead.
His gray shirt might have been of any nationality, so that on the whole he made quite a passable Frenchman. While they waited for darkness he paraded the trench, shrugging his shoulders, and gesticulating. "Bon joor, mays ong-fong," he remarked with a careless hand-wave. "Hey, gar-song! Donney-moi du pang eh du beurre, si voo play and donnay-moi swoy-song cans rapeed exploseef!
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