But now he could say nothing; he had given Fitzgerald sufficient provocation to warrant the jibe. Without another word he went back to the head of his platoon. Fitzgerald relapsed into silence and the march went on. At one o'clock came the order "Halt! Left of the road! Fall out!" And the men sank down wearily. Their packs were very heavy and their weight seemed to increase at every yard, justifying the soldiers' proverb: an ounce at the start is a pound at the finish. "Blimey, I don't know why we carry all this 'ere clobber about wiv us," Spudhole muttered, leaning back on his pack and stretching out his legs to their fullest extent. "Ballyclavvy 'elmet, trench 'elmet, gas 'elmet and cap," he enumerated. "Bay'net, 'ipe, trenchin' tool, munition (unner and eighty rounds), 'ousewife, 'oldall, ground sheet, messtin, razor, soap, comb, towel, paybook, clasp knife, iron rashuns, knife, fork and spoon, a bottle of water, a tin of condensed milk, a tin of café-o-lay, chocolate, matches and a box o' fags...." "I'll carry yer fags for you if you like," said Bowdy Benners. "Will yer?" muttered Bubb. "I've lost things that way 'fore now." "There are a lot of things which you haven't mentioned yet," Fitzgerald remarked. "There's the first field dressing, the loaf, your overcoat and spare shirt, pants, socks and vest. By the way, what are we stopping here for?" he asked. "There's no sign of dinner as far as I can see." "You're damned unlucky about dinner," said Snogger, coming up at that moment. "There's no dinner, not yet for a while, anyhow. We're going away from 'ere by buses soon as they come along." "Where to?" asked Bowdy Benners. "'Ome," Snogger answered sarcastically. "'Ome to the trenches. Big doins up there, I s'pose." "It's like the blurry Army," Bubb remarked with an air of finality. "Turnin' us out to fight when we're just ready for a bit o' grub. I never could 'old with this 'ere war. Look, there they come, curse 'em!" An omnibus came in sight, then a second, a third; coming from a village through which the battalion had just passed. As the vehicles drew up the spirits of the soldiers seemed to rise, jokes were passed with the drivers, mock enquiries were made and jesting answers were given: "Is this the bus for Wandsworth?" "Not this one--next along this way, No. 32." "Fares, please." "Full inside; room for two on top," etc. The soldiers got on to the buses, which set off hurriedly when all were aboard. Nobody seemed to know where the battalion was bound for, but all anticipated big things ahead. The soldiers' hearts vibrated with a strange expectant thrill--something great was going to happen. Where? When? The men asked one another, but none could answer the questions. They stood on the threshold of great events; children outside the door of a chamber of mysteries. CHAPTER V MARCHING