"While I was signaling to my rube pitcher, and beseeching him to put just _one_ over, the clanging of the gas-gong rang out. I dropped my glove, got off my chest protector, and madly adjusted my gas helmet, the rooters and players doing the same. Then I got wise. I remembered Alex's instructions: 'Watch out for gas. I'll make 'em hunt for _their_ gas helmets.' The nerve and daring of it took my breath away. The Canadians had a mile to go to get to their stations, and believe me, it is no fun double-timing for a mile while a gas helmet is choking you with its chemical fumes. "Well, those Canadians beat it, and so did we, but the game was saved and all bets were off. I nearly smothered with laughter in my gas helmet. To the rest, not being 'in the know,' it was a genuine alarm. Shortly after the stampede it was discovered that the alarm was false, and a rigid investigation took place. But the Canadians had left and our money was safe. It certainly would have gone hard with the culprit had he been caught. As it was our Battalion got two weeks' extra fatigue on working and digging parties. "Afterwards, I was let into the secret. Alex had given Stein ten francs to sound the gas alarm, which, with his fifteen francs bet on the game, Stein did not have it in his heart to refuse. Many a time Alex, Stein and myself had a quiet little laugh when we pictured the Canadians stampeding for their billets. "Then, orders were received to take over a new sector of the line, and baseball was forgotten. Baseballs gave way to hand grenades. "Not long after that Alex was killed, and Stein wounded. Thus ended the career of the Fusilier Giants." "BLIGHTY!--WHAT HOPES?" As Told by Sailor Bill "BLIGHTY!--WHAT HOPES?" It was Sailor Bill's turn. Clearing his voice, he commenced: "When h'I was in the N'vy--" "None of that," interrupted Curly. "You're in the Army now, and we are sick of hearing you gas about the Navy. How about it, fellows, make him tell an army story." The rest all agreed with Curly, and insisted that Bill tell of an army experience, leaving out as much as possible his nautical terms, which were Greek to them. Sailor Bill, highly peeved, insisted that he couldn't recall at that time that anything worth telling about had happened to him in the army. Ikey asked, "You were wounded, weren't you? Well, tell us about your trip to Blighty. We can stand anything." After two or three minutes of pretended hard thinking, Sailor Bill lighted his pipe (which was worse than German gas), and commenced: "The second battle o' Wipers was still blowin'. I 'ad run amuck with three bullets (rifle, I think) during my cruise over the top. One caught me on the port side o' my compass and nearly carried away my port light, while the other two came aboard my starboard shoulder.