At intervals a battery of our own let drive, the blast of the explosion catching one through the open door; at intervals a big German shell moaned its way through the air overhead--an express bound for somewhere. Had you looked out to the front, you would have seen the bright green flares lobbing monotonously up into the night, all along the line. War--modern war; boring, incredible when viewed in cold blood.... "Hullo, Hugh." A voice at the door roused us both from our doze, and the Adjutant came in. "Will you put your watches right by mine? We are making a small local attack to-morrow morning, and the battalion is to leave the trenches at 6.35 exactly." "Rather sudden, isn't it?" queried Hugh, setting his watch. "Just come through from Brigade Headquarters. Bombs are being brought up to H.15. Further orders sent round later. Bye-bye." He was gone, and once more we sat thinking to the same old accompaniment of trench noises; but in rather a different frame of mind. To-morrow morning at 6.35 peace would cease; we should be out and running over the top of the ground; we should be... "Will they use gas, I wonder?" Hugh broke the silence. "Wind too fitful," I answered; "and I suppose it's only a small show." "I wonder what it's for. I wish one knew more about these affairs; I suppose one can't, but it would make it more interesting." The mouth-organ stopped; there were vigorous demands for an encore. "Poor devils," he went on after a moment. "I wonder how many?--I wonder how many?" "A new development for you, Hugh." I grinned at him. "Merry and bright, old son--your usual motto, isn't it?" He laughed. "Dash it, Ginger--you can't always be merry and bright. I don't know why--perhaps it's second sight--but I feel a sort of presentiment of impending disaster to-night. I had the feeling before Clements came in." "Rot, old man," I answered cheerfully. "You'll probably win a V.C., and the greatest event of the war will be when it is presented to your cheeild." Which prophecy was destined to prove the cruellest mixture of truth and fiction the mind of man could well conceive.... "Good Lord!" he said irritably, taking me seriously for a moment; "we're a bit too old soldiers to be guyed by palaver about V.C.'s." Then he recovered his good temper. "No, Ginger, old thing, there's big things happening to-morrow. Hugh Latimer's life is going into the melting-pot. I'm as certain of it as--as that I'm going to have a whisky and soda." He laughed, and delved into a packing-case for the seltzogene. "How's the son and heir?? I asked after a while. "Going strong," he answered. "Going strong, the little devil."