"It won't be no good you Jocks goin' over no parapet to attack no
'Uns," he said, "after what 'appened last week!"
This dark saying had the effect of rousing every Scottish soldier in
the _estaminet_ to a state of bristling attention.
"And what was it," inquired Private Cosh with heat, "that happened
last week?"
"Why," replied Mr. Johnson, who had been compounding this jest for
some days, and now saw his opportunity to deliver it with effect at
short range, "your trenches got raided last Wednesday, when you was
in' em. By the Brandyburgers, I think it was."
The entire symposium stared at the jester with undisguised amazement.
"Our--trenches," proclaimed Private Tosh with forced calm, "were never
raided by no--Brandyburrrgerrs! Was they, Jimmie?"
Mr. Cosh corroborated, with three adjectives which Mr. Tosh had not
thought of.
Spike Johnson merely smiled, with the easy assurance of a man who has
the ace up his sleeve.
"Oh yes, they was!" he reiterated.
"They werre _not_!" shouted half a dozen voices.
The next stage of the discussion requires no description. It
terminated, at the urgent request of Madame from behind the bar, and
with the assistance of the Military Police, in the street outside.
"And now, Spike Johnson," inquired Private Cosh, breathing heavily but
much refreshed, "can you tell me what way Gairmans could get intil the
trenches of a guid Scots regiment withoot bein' _seen_?"
"I can," replied Mr.
Pages:
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193