'Twas ten minutes after that when 'e gave me the two francs."
"I saw Spud 'Iggles, 'im that was wounded at Givenchy;" Bill informed
us after he had lit a fresh cigarette.
"'Ole Spud!"
"'Ows Spud?"
"Not so bad, yer know," said Bill, answering our last question. "'E's
got a job."
"A good one?" I queried.
"Not 'arf," Bill said. "'E goes round with the motor car that goes to
places where soldiers are billeted and gathers up all the ammunition,
bully beef tins, tins of biscuits and everything worth anything that's
left behind--"
"Bill Teake. Is Bill Teake there?" asked a corporal at the door of the
dug-out.
"I'm 'ere, old Sawbones," said Bill, "wot d'ye want me for?"
"It's your turn on sentry," said the corporal.
"Oh! blimey, that's done it!" grumbled Bill. "I feel my tempratoor (p. 278)
goin' up again. It's always some damn fatigue or another in this
cursed place. I wonder when will I 'ave the luck to go sick again."
CHAPTER XX (p. 279)
THE WOMEN OF FRANCE
Lonely and still the village lies,
The houses asleep and the blinds all drawn.
The road is straight as the bullet flies,
And the east is touched with the tinge of dawn.
Shadowy forms creep through the night,
Where the coal-stacks loom in their ghostly lair;
A sentry's challenge, a spurt of light,
A scream as a woman's soul takes flight
Through the quivering morning air.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204