Suddenly he placed it on the step beside him and rose with an air of determination. The staff performed two or three nimble steps of the foxtrot variety to the rear, and as they did so Bendigo sprang to the assault. With a sweeping half-arm blow he struck the mud and the mud retaliated. While it lasted the action was brisk, but the issue was never in doubt. After two minutes in fighting, Bendigo withdrew exhausted, and most of the mud went with him. What was left looked tired. "A clear case of shell shock," muttered the Staff officer nervously in the Doctor's ear. "For Heaven's sake do something!" "Yes, but what the deuce am I to do?" Perspiring freely the gallant officer advanced slowly in the direction of Bendigo, who suddenly perceived him. The sculptor smiled wearily and pointed a languid hand at the result of his labours. "A great work, my friend," he murmured. "One of my most wonderful studies." "Doubtless," remarked the Doctor cautiously. "Don't you think--er--you'd better lie down?" "The leafy foliage; the wonderful green effect; the tree--as I see it. Fresh, fragrant, superb." Bendigo burbled on, heedless of his mundane surroundings. "What is the fool talkin' about?" howled the General, who was standing on tip toe trying to see what was happening. "Hush, sir, I beg of you!" The Doctor looked round nervously. "A most peculiar----" "I won't hush," roared his irascible senior. "Why should I hush? Some idiot is standing on my feet; and I'm wedged in here like a sardine. Let me speak to him." The General forced his way forward. "Now, you--my man, what the devil are you doing? And what's that damned lump of mud on the fire-step?" "I am Bendigo Jones," returned the other dreamily. "Sculptah--artist--genius." "I didn't ask who you were," barked the now infuriated General. "I asked you what that thing that looks like an inebriated blancmange is meant to be." "That model?" Bendigo bent forward and gazed at it lovingly. "That is yonder tree as I see it. The base materialist with the foot rule will inform you of the mundane details." The Sapper alluded to scowled heavily at the unconscious Bendigo. Somewhat uncertain as to what a base materialist might be, he felt dimly that it was a term to be resented. "I was sent up 'ere, sir, with 'im to help 'im make a model of that there stump," he remarked morosely. "That's the fifteenth mess 'e's made this morning; and 'e's carried on 'orrible over the 'ole lot. If I might say so, sir, 'e don't seem quite right in his 'ead." "I am inclined to agree with you," answered the General grimly. "He must be swept up and . . ." Exactly what fate was in store for Bendigo will never be known. One of those visitations of fate which occur periodically in the trenches interrupted the General's words, and ended the situation in more ways than one. "Look out, sir," cried a sergeant, with a sudden shout. "Rum jar coming."