the Boches didn't present with a single shell for months and months," put in Dunstan, dryly, "and just when everybody began to consider it a lovely and peaceful place—a haven of refuge in time of danger—the German batteries, early one morning, suddenly started working overtime. No, Messieurs, it probably will never be rebuilt." "That's liable to happen here, too," remarked Bodkins, not very reassuringly. "We're only a few kilometers from the front. But what do we care, boys! Isn't there a dandy underground shelter right back of the quarters for us to drop into when things get a bit too squally! Why, it's got a roof of sand-bags and dirt about eight feet thick. Only a shell landing very close could do any harm; so let's cheer up." A momentary silence ensued, and Dunstan Farrington thereupon began tapping in a very nonchalant fashion upon the table. Any keen observer might have noticed that of all those present but one paid attention to his action. A curious, eager light instantly sprang into Don Hale's eyes; a smile curved his lips. For Dunstan, using the Morse code, was sending a message to Don, who, being a former wireless operator, of course understood. Rather laboriously the art student spelled the words which form this sentence: "Chase, our new member, is an odd sort of a chap. Some of the fellows think he has a yellow streak. We're curious to see what he'll do when under fire." Humming softly, and with a twinkle in his eye, Don sauntered over to the table, and, in a considerably more expert manner than his fellow driver, made a series of taps upon its surface. Dunstan had no difficulty in translating the following: "Don't judge too soon. Give him a chance. I'll bet he'll make good." Dunstan replied: "A grouch of the first class, Don." Again: "Don't judge too soon." "What's the matter—do you chaps think you're woodpeckers?" broke in Bodkins. "Come, boys, let's entertain ourselves. How's this for improvising?" And the musician, twanging his banjo, began to sing and play in a decidedly lusty manner.