“Heads down,” said the General sharply, “and don’t move.  Pass it down.”  And by way of example he sat heavily on my periscope and stayed gazing at the ground like a fakir lost in meditation.

Meanwhile the message was passed along, and the trench became silent as the grave.  I was informed a few days later that it reached the outer battalion of the next brigade later on in the morning, and was popularly supposed to have reached Switzerland the same evening.

For about five minutes the droning continued ("Having a good look at us,” said the Brigade-major in a sepulchral whisper) and then suddenly ceased with what I can only describe as an appalling snort.  Almost simultaneously a tousled head was thrust out of a dug-out almost into the great man’s face, and Gilbert’s cheerful roar was heard by a scandalised company.

“Had a topping sleep.  What’s the time, someone?”

* * * * *

    “Best milch cows have been sold recently for L60 in the Isle
    of Wight.  At a meeting of the Cowes Council it was stated
    that at Chichester cows had sold for L73 each.”—­Times.

And now that the Isle of Wight milkers have held their indignation meeting it is expected that the anomaly will be removed.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  ONE UP!]

* * * * *

PETER, THE TEMPTER.

Necessity does not make stranger bedfellows than some of the changes brought about by War.  Who, for example—­and certainly not such a born sun-worshipper as I—­would ever have dreamt that a time would come when we in London and the Eastern counties would desire rain and wind with a passionate keenness once reserved solely for fine weather?  Yet so it is.  By reason of that foolish invention of flying we now, when we go to the window in the morning and lift the blind, are dashed and darkly thoughtful if no sky of grey scudding misery meets our gaze.  “Please Heaven it pours!” we say.  Just think of it—­“Please Heaven it pours!” What a treachery!  It may even come that we include prayers for storms in the Liturgy.

In default of bad weather we may have to Take Cover; and it is when we Take Cover that discoveries begin and long-postponed adventures fructify.  For years and years, for example, I had looked down that steep hill by the Tivoli site in the Strand into the yawning cavern that opens there, and wondered about it.  I had thought one day to explore it, but had never done so, any more than I have yet proceeded further towards a visit to the Roman Bath, also off the Strand, than to threaten it.

But I shall get to the Bath yet, because already, thanks to the intervention of the Hun, I have become intimately acquainted with Lower Robert Street, and the next step is simple.