"Them guns cawst them a lot," says Tommy. "It cawst £250 each loading. We used to be laying there in the trenches and to pass the time while they was firing at us we'd count up how much it was cawsting them. That's 17s. 6d., that bit of shrapnel! we'd say. And there goes another £5! They waste their shells something terrible too. There's thirty five-pound notes gone for nothing we'd reckon up sometimes when thirty shells had exploded in nothin' but mud!" Then the wounded one tells us a funny story. "I was getting messages in one day when this came through: '_The Turks are wearing fez and neutral trousers!_' We couldn't make head or tail of the neutral trousers! So we pressed for an explanation. It came. '_The Turks are wearing fez, breaches of neutrality!'_" * * * * * And while we are laughing the train runs into Victoria Station and the soldiers three leap joyously out into the rain-wet London night. Then dear familiar words break on our ears, in a woman's voice. "Any luggage, Mum!" says a woman porter. And we know that old England is carrying on as usual! THE END [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF BELGIUM]