The fare was indeed excellent and every man did it justice. Each had a mess-tin of tea, a thick slice of buttered bread and a rasher of bacon. Tongues were loosened and the talk became general for there were so many things to talk about. The week-old papers which came by last night's post were read and comments passed on the contents. A full page advertisement in a leading daily came in for a fair share of sarcasm. This advertisement told of the virtues of a wonderful beauty cream just discovered. It gave a most delightfully delicate pink flush to the skin and took away the effects of twenty or thirty years' wear from a woman's face. It was the talk of London. All the society women were using it. Lady So-and-So said so-and-so about it; the celebrated actress A---- vowed that it was the one thing which England had waited for since the early part of the last century, etc. "For my own part I wish they invented some-thin' to take away the crawlers off my clothes," Spudhole remarked as he finished his tea. "I'm goin' to 'ave a coot." He got to his feet, took off his tunic and donned his equipment over his shirt. Bowdy went into the dug-out to have a few hours' sleep; Flanagan sat down on the fire-step and lit a cigarette. "It's getting quite hot, Spudhole," he said. "'Ot as 'ell," Spudhole replied. At that moment a shell burst amidst the poppy flowers on the open in front of the sector and Spudhole, who was making his way towards the dug-out door clapped his hand to his neck and exclaimed: "I've copped one this time; it's givin' me gyp!" Flanagan shouted "Stretcher bearers!" Then he turned to help his mate but even as he did so he felt a sudden penetrating pain pierce his own chin, and the wasp which was responsible for the sting flew off to a safe distance and poised itself in the air over the dug-out. Fitzgerald, knowing that it was contemplating another attack, prepared to retreat. "It's wasps, Spudhole!" he yelled. "We'll clear off round the corner." But before they moved Bowdy Benners rushed out of the dug-out, festooned with angry wasps. "Good God!" he yelled, striking out with both hands. "I'm stung to death. My pillow was a nest of the swine! Git out, you vermin!... Got that one! Did I? He's stung my finger.... Oh! blast!..." The three retreated at the double round the traverse and into the next bay. The occupants were just sitting down to breakfast, a good breakfast, for the post had come and parcels were bulky. "Wot the blazes is this?" one of them exclaimed as the crush of men rounded the corner waving their arms about their heads. "These 'ere blokes are working their tickets, I suppose!"