"No; I’m too old a soldier for that. They’ve got something on—I bet. Let’s have a walk round." Quietly they slipped round the billets of the regiment. "Here, Bludgeon—what’s that?" said the S.M. peering through the darkness. "It’s a long pole, and the blighters are sliding down it." "A pole!" "Yes. Listen." One by one, over a hundred men slid down the long pole from the window to a quiet field. There they were gathering prior to a general advance on Mudtown Mission Hall, where a hundred mill-girls had pledged to bring the New Year in and kiss them under the mistletoe. It was an awkward situation—doubly awkward because of their discontent about pay and the lures of the buxom wenches beyond. Once women enter into such problems the difficulties are manifold. A thousand men with fixed bayonets would not stop this contingent. Something unusual and extraordinary had to be done. For once, Sergeant Bludgeon knew that his immortal stick was useless. Yet he knew there was only one road to the Mission. This climbed up a hill through a deep sort of gully. The head of that gully must be held at all costs. "I’ve got the idea, major," whispered the provost-sergeant. "What?" "Weesht! This way," and off scampered the wardens of military discipline. On arriving at the guard-room, Sergeant Bludgeon ’phoned to the local Fire Brigade. In a few words he explained his needs, and requested that the great steam fire-engine should be rushed at once to the head of the Mudtown road. There the firemaster was ordered to clear for action and wait for orders. "That will do them, major," said Bludgeon with a sardonic grin, as he replaced the ’phone and led his superior quietly by a circuitous route to the scene of the coming action. The fire-engine was waiting behind a great hedge. Three powerful nozzles lay ready for drenching deeds. Quietly Bludgeon detailed his orders; the firemen gladly concurred. Just as the final points had been explained there was heard a low mumbling of voices and soft patter of feet. "The blighters have got their boots off," whispered Bludgeon. "But—listen!" "We’ve fairly bate them this time," said the apparent leader. "Ay! Auld Bludgeon ’ill get a fricht in the mornin’." "Man, we’ll hae a fine time. Thae weemin ’ill hae plenty o’ hard stuff an’ shortbread." "If you get there!" muttered Fireworks under his breath, as he espied the column of crawling and creeping revellers. "Ready?" whispered Bludgeon. "Yes," answered the firemaster. "Fire!" The three great nozzles sent forth gigantic waves of freezing water. The leading men were knocked down and almost petrified with the amazing deluge. Those behind were also drenched and chilled to the bone.