'Well,' said the Gunner, picking his words carefully. 'If a man's wife _or_ gel _or_ sister _or_ friend wants to send 'im some smokes they cuts this coo-pon, same's I've said, an' sends it up to the paper, wi' sixpence an' the reg'mental number an' name of the man the gift's to go to. An' the paper buys the 'baccy, gettin' it cheap becos o' buyin' tons an' tons, an' sends a packet out wi the chap's number an' name and reg'ment wrote on it. So 'e gets it. An' that's all.' The Wheel Driver could contain himself no longer. 'An' how d'you reckon I got this packet, an' no name or number on it--'cept a pos'card wi' a name an' address wrote on as I never 'eard before?' 'Becos some good-'earted bloke in Blighty[1] that doesn't 'ave no pal particular out 'ere asks the paper to send 'is packet o' 'baccy to the O.C. to pass on to some pore 'ard-up orphin Tommy that ain't got no 'baccy nor no fren's to send 'im like, an' 'e issues it to you.' 'It ain't a issue,' persisted the Wheel Driver. 'It's a Gif. The Quarter sed so 'isself.' Splashing and squelching footsteps were heard outside, the door-curtain swung aside, and the Centre Driver ducked in, took off a soaking cap, and jerked a glistening spray off it into the darkness. 'Another fair _soor_ of a night,' he remarked cheerfully, slipping out of his mackintosh and hanging the streaming garment in the door. 'Bust me if I know where all the rain comes from.' 'Any luck?' asked the Lead Driver, leaning over to rearrange the strip of cloth which, stuck in a jam-tin of fat, provided what--with some imagination--might be called a light. 'Five packets--twenty-five fags,' said the Centre Driver. 'There was two or three wantin' to swap the 'baccy in their packets for the fags in the other chaps', so I done pretty well to get five packets for mine.' ''Twould 'a' paid you better to 'ave kep' your 'baccy and made fags out o' it wi' cig'rette papers,' said the Wheel Driver. 'Mebbe,' agreed the Centre Driver. 'An' p'raps you'll tell me--not being a Maskelyne an' Cook conjurer meself--'ow I'm to produce the fag-papers.' The Gunner chuckled softly.