"'Twas a difficult job getting back again. There was I, dismissed from the army, and no more good as a fighter; my shoulder stiff and sore; my discharge papers showing that I was medically unfit, and in fact a thorough wash-out. But something had to be done. 'Twas then that I met old Nick Nock again. He was discharged, too--time-expired. I met him, I grieve to state, in a pub. I stood him a drink and told him my predicament. He thought for a moment, then he said: 'Why not come back from the back o' beyond, a sailor, go up to the recruiting station an' call yerself Bill Jackson an' get taken on again. Don't mention a word about yer shoulder, an' maybe the M.O. won't notice it. Gawd! I'd go wiv yer meself, Flanagan, if it wasn't fer those damned rheumatics.' "I tried the dodge, got taken on as Bill Jackson, who was at one time A.B. before the mast, and now Flanagan is dead to the British Army henceforward, evermore." "The tea is about ready, Bill Jackson," Bowdy said, as his mate sat down on the floor between the legs of a man who was sound asleep and breathing heavily. "If you care to wait a little, I'll fry a rasher of bacon. Rations are pretty plump to-night." "And is there any rum going?" Flanagan asked, springing to his feet again. He was too excited to remain still. "How strange that I had forgotten to ask about the rum rations until now," he muttered. "I suppose there'll be a tot after a little?" "It's within the bounds of possibility," Bowdy remarked, as he put two rashers of bacon in the mess-tin lid and placed the lid on the brazier. "But we'll see to that later. Necessities before luxuries out here, Bill Jackson," he added. The bacon was ready and they sat down, Flanagan and Bowdy, and commenced to eat. Meals have no season in the trenches, but they are always welcome. "God, it's good to be back here!" said Flanagan. "I've never been so happy in all my life! I hope the war won't end until this happiness is worn out." He was sincere in his expressions, and his mood almost became Bowdy's before the meal was at an end. They lay back when they had eaten and lit cigarettes. The smoke wreathed upwards to the roof, where the mice was scurrying amidst the rafters under the sandbags. The soldiers were still asleep on the floor, their bodies curled up in queer attitudes. "They sleep sound," said Flanagan. "Who is that snoring? Is it old Snogger?" "Snogger it is," said Bowdy. "I thought so," said Flanagan. "I knew his snore. I couldn't sleep like that at home--I'm very glad to be out here again. It's a great life, and I like it more than ever before. I suppose I'll get tired of it again, after a while. The novelty will wear out in due time, I've no doubt. By the way, have you Fitzgerald with you yet?" he asked. "He's here," Bowdy made answer. "He's in love with a French girl named Fifi. He's very fond of her."