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We are holding our own, Bobby. What's that, Sergeant?" "The Commanding Officer, sirr," announced Sergeant Carfrae, "has just passed up that we are to keep a sharp look-out to our left. They've commenced for to bomb the English regiment now." "Golly, both flanks! This is getting a trifle steep," remarked Wagstaffe. Detonations could now be distinctly heard upon the left.
Major Wagstaffe apologised most humbly, but the name stuck. Petit Jean is an enthusiast upon matters military. He possesses a little wooden rifle, the gift of a friendly "Écossais," tipped with a flashing bayonet cut from a biscuit-tin; and spends most of his time out upon the road, waiting for some one to salute.
They were successfully repelled, in the first instance by the remainder of "A" Company, led in person by Bobby Little, and, when the final struggle came, by the Battalion Reserve under Major Wagstaffe. And throughout the whole grim struggle which ensued, the Estaminet aux Bons Fermiers, tenanted by some of our oldest friends, proved itself the head and corner of the successful defence.
But the explanation thereof, as proffered by Private Mucklewame, was quite simple and eminently sound. "All the decent lads," he observed briefly, "are oot here." "Good work!" said Wagstaffe, when Blaikie's tale was told. "What is the new trench for, exactly?" Blaikie told him. "Tell me more!" urged Wagstaffe, deeply interested.
His idea was to trot over to the German trenches and look inside." "Quite so!" agreed Wagstaffe, and Kemp chuckled. "Well, we were standing by the barbed wire entanglement, arguing the point, when suddenly some infernal imbecile in our own trenches " "Cockerell, for a dollar!" murmurs Wagstaffe. "Don't say he fired at you!" "No, he did worse. He let off a fireball." "Whew!
Some disappeared over the horizon, others dropped flat, others simply curled up and withered. In three minutes solitude reigned again, and the firing ceased. "Well, that's that!" observed Captain Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, upon the right of the Battalion line. "The Bosche has 'bethought himself and went, as the poet says. Now he knows we are here, and have brought our arquebuses with us.
And so in the afternoon my wife went to church, and he and I stayed at home and drank and talked, and he stayed with me till night and supped with me, when I expected to have seen Jack Cole and Lem. Wagstaffe, but they did not come.
Bobby explains to him modestly what he has been trying to do. "Yes, I heard you," says Wagstaffe. "You take a breather, while I carry on for a bit. Squad, stand easy, and tell me what you can see on that target. Lance-Corporal Ness, show me a pit-head." Lance-Corporal Ness steps briskly forward and lays a grubby forefinger on Bobby's "mine." "Private Mucklewame, show me a burn."
A luminous watch. A pair of insulated wire-cutters. "There's only one thing you've forgotten," remarked Captain Wagstaffe, when introduced to this unique collection of curios. "What is that?" inquired Bobby, always eager to learn. "A pantechnicon! Do you known how much personal baggage an officer is allowed, in addition to what he carries himself?" "Thirty-five pounds." "Correct."
According to Major Wagstaffe, you can now disguise anybody as anything. For instance, you can make up a battery of six-inch guns to look like a flock of sheep, and herd them into action browsing.
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