At half-past seven came in Richards to lay the table. The procedure of this was first to take all articles on the table and dump them on the nearest bed. Then a knife, fork, and spoon were put to each place, and a varied collection of tin mugs and glasses arranged likewise; then came salt and mustard in glass potted-meat jars; bread sitting bareback on the newspaper tablecloth; and a bottle of O.V.H. and two bottles of Perrier to crown the feast. All this was arranged with a deliberate smile, as by one who knew the exact value of things, and defied instruction in any detail of laying a table. Richards was an old soldier, and he had won from Dixon at first unbounded praise; but he had been found to possess a lot too much talk at present, and had been sat on once or twice fairly heavily of late. So now he wore the face of one who was politely amused, yet, knowing his own worth, could forbear from malice. He gave the table a last look with his head on one side, and then departed in silence. Suddenly the door flew open, and the doctor burst in, shuddering, and knocking the snow off his cap. “By Jove, Dicker,” he cried. “A bad night to go about paying joy visits. But, by Jove, I’m jolly glad you asked me. There’s the devil to pay up at headquarters. The C.O.’s raving, simply. Some blighter has pinched our coal, and there’s none to be got anywhere. Good Lord, it’s too hot altogether. I couldn’t stand Mess there to-night at any price. I pity old Dale. The C.O.’s been swearing like a trooper! He’s fair mad.” “Never mind,” he added after a pause. “I think we’ve raised enough wood to cook the dinner all right. See you’ve got coal all right.” I hoped to goodness Dixon wouldn’t put his foot in it. But he rose to the occasion and said: “Oh, yes. We ordered some coal from Sergeant Johnson. Come on, let’s start. Hi! Richards!” And Richards came in with the stew in a tin jug such as is used in civilised lands to hold hot water of a morning. And so the doctor forgot the Colonel’s rage. Late that night, after the doctor had gone, I called Davies. “Davies,” I said, “where did you get that coal?” “Off the ration cart, sir.” “Was it ours, do you think?” “Well, sir, I don’t somehow think it was. You see, the ration cart came up, and the man driving it was up by the horse--and I saw the bag o’ coal there, like. So I said to Lewis, ‘Lewis, you see to the rations. I’ll take the coal up quick!’ Then I heard the man up by the horse say, ‘There’s coal there for headquarters.’ ‘Oh, yes,’ I said, ‘that’s all right, but this here was ordered off Sergeant Johnson yesterday,’ I said. And I made off quick.” “Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “Was Sergeant Johnson there?”