"We're six bicycles short, you say, Quartermaster-Sergeant?" he exclaimed irritably, gazing at some papers in front of him, while he filled his pipe. "Yes, sir; and two more with wheels buckled, and three that free-wheel both ways." "What d'you mean--free-wheel both ways?" "The pedals rotate, sir, with great speed, but the bicycle remains motionless." When a man habitually calls an armchair, A chair, arm--Officers, for the use of, one--his conversation is apt to become stilted. "How were the wheels buckled?" demanded the Captain when he had digested this great thought. "Two of the officers, sir--playing what I believe they called bicycle polo with a brick and two pick-helves--had--er--a slight mishap." "When did it happen?" "Er--after dinner, sir, one night." The N.C.O. looked tactfully out of the window. The officer did not pursue the topic. "Well, what about these six that have been lost?" "Completely destroyed by shell-fire," said the C.Q.M.S. firmly. "I have prepared a statement of what happened for your perusal and signature." He handed the officer a written paper and respectfully withdrew a few paces to avoid any semblance of coercion. "'The six bicycles were placed on the morning of the 10th ult. against the entrance to the R.E. Dump at A.21, C.2.4. It would appear that during the absence of the riders a hostile shell of large calibre fell on the six said bicycles, completely demolishing them, for when the riders returned after the day's work merely a few fragments remained scattered round the shell crater.'" The Captain read it over slowly, and then, in tones of awe, a murmured "Wonderful" wafted through the office. "I beg your pardon, sir?" The N.C.O. was again at his side. "I said wonderful, Quartermaster-Sergeant--quite wonderful. Do you think they'll swallow it?" "It has been done before, sir." The tone was non-committal. "And one of the six was undoubtedly badly punctured by a stray rifle bullet before we lost it--er--that is, before it was finally destroyed by shell-fire." "Right." With the air of a man who communes with great destinies, the Captain signed his name. "Anything more?" "Nothing at present, sir. The question of the consumption of Candles, Tallow dip, Pounds Twenty-four, stolen from our yard by the 940th Tunnelling Company has come back again with remarks from the Chief Ordnance Officer at the Base--but it will wait until you come back from the trenches." "I'm glad of that," remarked the Captain, rising. "I'm not feeling very strong this morning, and candles, tallow dip--especially lbs. 24 of them--would cause a relapse. Orderly"--he strolled to the door--"my bicycle, please." A few minutes later he was riding slowly down the road towards the place where there was "a war on." A cool mist hung over the fields on each side of him, and in the early morning stray cobwebs glistening with moisture brushed lightly across his face.