"One night I had a dream," Bubb interrupted. "Dreamt I was 'avin' a feed at the S.P.O.[A] shop. Next day I was at the street corner a dogger-on for flatties. As I was there a copper comes round the other turnin' and flops into the banker school. 'Twasn't arf a barney. They sets about 'im an' knocks 'im down and I gets 'is 'at and I kicks it along the street. Didn't arf make a big 'ole in it either. But I was unlucky, for two other coppers comes up and collars me. I was put in the reformatory." [Footnote A: Sausage, potato and onion.] Sergeant Snogger detached himself from the ranks. "Oo's got a fag to give away?" he asked as Fitzgerald came up. "Here's one," said Fitzgerald, handing the sergeant a cigarette. "'Ave yer 'eard about the German as was captured about 'ere the other day?" asked Snogger, marching by the side of Fitzgerald and lighting the fag. "'E was got sleeping in a ruined cottage near the Café Belle Vue. Dressed in khaki, with the badge of the A.S.C." "Good God! I must have met that man," said Fitzgerald, and told for the first time the story of his adventure on the night of his return from the Café. He told the story in full, frequently interrupting himself and going back in the narrative to present a detail which he had forgotten. When he had finished he looked at Snogger, who had listened very attentively, and suddenly realised that the sergeant did not believe him. To be sure, Fitzgerald had wandered away a little from the absolute truth, and the story of his own behaviour had lost nothing in the telling. A sarcastic smile showed on Snogger's lips and Fitzgerald suddenly wished that the narrative had never been told. "Damned good, or in French, tray bon!" said the sergeant in a drawling voice. "Blurry fine story. That A.S.C. bloke told me all about it. 'E was one of our own men, too, not an A.S.C. at all. You don't know the feller. 'E's in another company. But 'e's allus up to a joke. We planned it all out in the Café after old Fatty 'ad told that cock and bull story about the Germans breakin' through. The A.S.C. man was to wait for you on the road outside. Wasn't that the ticket, Spudhole?" "That was 'ow we planned it out," said Bubb. Fitzgerald puffed his cigarette viciously and his face was crimson. For a moment he was silent, then he spoke, turning to Bubb. "I cannot follow your remark, Bubb," he said in a slow voice. "The crash of your falling aitches drowns all other sounds. You should take a lesson in pronunciation from Sergeant Snogger. If you listen to him when he orders the 'wear wanks to wipe their wifles wiv woily wags,' you can't fail to become a master of English as it is spoken." The sergeant blushed red as a beetroot. His imperfections in speaking were a great eyesore to the man, and only once before had he been twitted about the matter. Then thick ears and black eyes were kept as mementoes of the occasion.