“It seemed to go some way, sir,” said the sergeant.
“It did,” answered Ainsworth, “farther than I thought.” His face expressed a little uneasiness, when suddenly an apparition appeared. Hopping over a ploughed field towards him, brandishing his arms, came an infuriated figure in carpet slippers. The platoon paused in silent dismay, while a bull-like bellow came floating through the air.
“You blithering ass,” roared an excited voice, as a purple-faced gunner-major came to a standstill in front of him. “You fat-headed, splay-footed idiot. I have been shelled and gassed and shot at for two months without a pause by the Germans, and when I come back here to rest you plaster my picket line with lumps of steel, and burst lyddite bombs on my bed!”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Ainsworth. “I’d no idea”
“Then, damn it, go away and get one. Go away and make noises and explosions in your own bed, or apply to go to the Dardanelles, or something. You’re a menace, sir, a pest, and you ought to be locked up.”
