FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (tactfully).  There was other messages comin’ through, sir.

THE ADJUTANT.  Well, get me the Company Commander.

FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER.  Varra good, sirr.

A pause.  Regimental Headquarters being engaged in laboriously “buzzing” its message through to the Brigade, all other conversation is at a standstill.  The Harmonious Blacksmiths seize the opportunity to give a short selection.  Presently, as the din dies down—­

THE F.O.O. (faint, yet pursuing).  Is that C Battery?

A JOVIAL VOICE.  Yes.

THE F.O.O.  What a shock!  I thought you were all dead.  Is that you,
Chumps?

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  It is.  What can I do for you this morning?

THE F.O.O.  You can boil your signal sentry’s head!

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  What for?

THE F.O.O.  For keeping me waiting.

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  Righto!  And the next article?

THE F.O.O.  There’s a Boche working-party in a coppice two hundred yards west of a point—­

THE MOSQUITO (with renewed vigour).  Ping, ping!

THE F.O.O. (savagely).  Shut up!

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  Working-party?  I’ll settle them.  What’s the map reference?

THE F.O.O.  They are in Square number—­

THE HARMONIOUS BLACKSMITHS (suddenly and stunningly).  Whang!

THE F.O.O.  Shut up!  They are in Square—­

FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER.  Hallo, Headquarters!  Is the Adjutant there? 
Here’s the Captain tae speak with him.

AN EAGER VOICE.  Is that the Adjutant?

REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS.  No, sirr.  He’s away tae his office.  Hold the line while I’ll—­

THE EAGER VOICE.  No you don’t!  Put me straight through to C Battery—­quick!  Then get off the line, and stay there! (Much buzzing.) Is that C Battery?

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  Yes, sir.

THE EAGER VOICE.  I am O.C.  Beer Company.  They are shelling my front parapet, at L8, with pretty heavy stuff.  I want retaliation, please.

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  Very good, sir. (The voice dies away.)

A SOUND OVER OUR HEADS (thirty seconds later).  Whish!  Whish!  Whish!

SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER.  Did ye hear that, Jimmy?

FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (with relish).  Mphm!  That’ll sorrt them!

THE F.O.O.  Is that C Battery?

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  Yes.  What luck, old son?

THE F.O.O.  You have obtained two direct hits on the Boche parapet. 
Will you have a cocoanut or a ci—­

THE JOVIAL VOICE.  A little less lip, my lad!  Now tell me all about your industrious friends in the Coppice, and we will see what we can do for them!

* * * * *

And so on.  Apropos of Adjutants and Company Commanders, Private Wamphray, whose acquaintance we made a few pages back, was ultimately relieved of his position as a Company Signaller, and returned ignominiously to duty, for tactless if justifiable interposition in one of these very dialogues.