shaken with rage—“the accursed swine-dog of a waiter at the Pytchley Hunt ball who laughed when I sat on the grapes? I have him here.”
“Lie still, you fool,” I muttered. “Do you want to get every one ‘scuppered’?”
Of course, James paid not the slightest attention. “I have him here,” he grunted. “I know that scar, you horrible reptile,” and he shook the little brute till his teeth rattled. “Are you aware that you spoilt the best pair of silk breeches I ever had, and I haven’t paid for them yet?” And with that he threw him into the trench close by.
Like James at the ball, he sat down and arose hurriedly. James would select the bit of trench where the land mines were. There was a most deafening roar as all six went off, and that waiter will undoubtedly wait no more. James himself, I’m glad to say, was stunned, which kept him quiet for a time, but he was about the only quiet thing in France for the next hour. It is my personal belief that in addition to all the batteries on each side which opened fire simultaneously, the mysterious gun which has bombarded Dunkirk let drive as well.
