"Well?" enquired a deep muffled voice testily.

"Colonel's compliments, sir," announced the mendacious private, in an assumed tone. "He wants you to report to him at once upon the number of men left in this section of the trench."

Grumbling, the Major issued from his subterranean retreat, carefully locked the door, and set out to find the company sergeant-major, in order to obtain the supposedly urgent information.

Before he returned the four raiders were scurrying back to their dug-out, each with his mouth full of cold sausage, while Alderhame retained a painful impression of an otherwise appetizing repast in the shape of a cut on his cheek, caused by the end of the pole as the elated Sidney swiftly withdrew it with the prized booty impaled upon the bayonet.

"Where's my first-aid dressing?" enquired the ex-actor, with mock concern.

 

 

"Hardly good enough for Blighty," said Penfold, with a laugh. "My word, won't the Major be in a tear when he misses his sausages!"

"Let him," said Bartlett. "He can only blame the rats."

"Halt! Who goes there?" exclaimed the hoarse voice of a sentry in the next traverse.

"Engineers' ration party," was the reply. "Is this the Royal Engineers?"

"Rather!" replied the ready Penfold. "Dump 'em down; we'll fetch them."

Out of the neighbouring dug-outs poured other Tommies. Without having any suspicion of the ruse played upon them, the ration party handed over the stores intended for a company of the Royal Engineers, who were engaged in tunnelling on the left of the Wheatshires' trenches. Almost in the nick of time a famine was averted at the expense of the sappers and miners. But, as Penfold remarked, it was each man for himself when it came to a case of semi-starvation.

 

 

 

 

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