“This is the section that you are to defend,” he said. “You see it consists of four separate front-line trenches, each just long enough and wide enough to accommodate eight men. Each front trench is connected with the second line of trenches by a short runway. Behind the second line is the shelter, or dugout, for those who are not on duty in the trenches. You will take turns in holding the front line; each squad will be relieved every fifteen minutes. The rest of you will keep under cover in the shelter—under cover from the enemy, that is.” There was an uncertain ripple of laughter; the rain was beginning now to pour down. “At what hour the attack may develop I can’t tell you,” continued the captain, “but it will no doubt be sometime between now and sunrise.” In the shelter, which was a large rectangular pit six feet deep, the men opened their packs and got out their ponchos—all except Kennedy, who stood looking on while his comrades proceeded to protect themselves against the now pelting rain. Wheeler, poking his head through the opening in his poncho, saw Kennedy standing thus. “Why don’t you get out your poncho?” he asked. “I forgot to put it in my pack.” “That’s the limit, a night like this. You’ve got a frightful cold, too.” Wheeler pulled off the poncho that he had just put on. “Get into this and keep yourself as dry as you can.” “No, I wouldn’t think of taking your——” “You’re under orders now, and you’ll take what your corporal tells you.” Wheeler thrust the rubber garment over his subordinate’s head. “There you are; I don’t want to feel responsible for your having pneumonia.” Then, as Captain Hughes called, “Squad leaders, gather round!” Wheeler moved away to receive instructions. Seating himself cross-legged, Kennedy arranged the poncho as well as he could over his rifle. The rain came down in sheets, poured from the brims of hats, formed puddles on the ground, oozed through trousers and boots and leggings. By the occasional lightning flashes Kennedy could see the group of corporals holding conference with the captain near by; he could see the huddled forms of the privates like himself, the ponchos shining on their shoulders, the pools glistening at their feet. In a few moments the conference broke up; then Captain Hughes raised his voice sharply. “Mr. Wheeler, where is your poncho?” “I haven’t got it, sir.” “A man who is careless about himself is not likely to look after his men, and that is an officer’s first duty. You set a bad example to the members of your squad, Mr. Wheeler.” “Yes, sir.” Wheeler saluted and the captain turned away just as Kennedy came forward. The corporal gripped Kennedy’s wrist and held him fast, then led him in silence back to his place. “That’s all right,” he whispered in Kennedy’s ear. “Don’t you butt in. You’d only get it in the neck if you did.”