"Yes, I've got some onions to spare," said Flanagan. "Are you going to cook now?" "I'm goin' to cook now," said Bubb, "but I want some lard or something greasy for fryin'." "Good idea," said Flanagan. "What did you fry the taters in?" asked Bubb. "Oh, I fried them in--vaseline," was Flanagan's reply. "Git out!" "Yes, I did." "Truth?" "Oh, it's quite true," Flanagan lied, "you should try it." "So I will," said the simple Bubb, and so he did. He used a whole box of vaseline, frying his taters on a mess-tin lid placed over a little fire at the base of a traverse. He ate his portion with great zest, vowing that he never had had a better repast in all his life. Part of the feed he kept for Bowdy. Flanagan, delighted with the little joke, told Sergeant Snogger how Spudhole Bubb had used vaseline in frying potatoes. Snogger came up to Bubb as the latter sat smoking a Woodbine in the corner of the dug-out. "Spudhole Bubb," he said, "what's wrong with ye?" "Wiv me?" asked Bubb. "There's nuffink wrong wiv me." "Ye're lookin' very pale," said Snogger. "I never saw a man look as bad. Have ye had no dinner?" "No dinner!" exclaimed Bubb. "I 'ad the best meal ever I 'ad." "It can't have agreed with you," said Snogger. "You look as white as a ghost." The sergeant walked away and Flanagan poked his head through the door. "Good God, Bubb!" he exclaimed, "what has happened to you?" "'Appened to me!" said Bubb. "Nuffink, man. Wot gyme are yer up to?" "No game at all," said Flanagan. "But you look bad. You should go and see the doctor this evening." Bubb looked in the little mirror which he always carried about with him (he was really a devil for the girls), and he thought that he was looking white. "But I don't feel bad," he said to Flanagan. "You mayn't feel bad," said the Irishman, "but by heaven! you look bad. Is it yer nerves that are givin' way?" "I've no nerves," said Bubb. Bowdy, who had just returned, was the next to pass a remark on Bubb's condition. "What has happened to you, matey?" he asked. "You look like a dead hen." "I'm orl right," said Bubb, but there was a note of concern in his voice. "I 'ad the best dinner ever I 'ad a moment ago. There's some left for you." "Has it disagreed with you?" asked Bowdy. "What kind of dinner was it?" "Taters and h'onions fried in vaseline," was Bubb's reply. "The same taters that we got...." "Vaseline!" Bowdy repeated, "Vaseline! Vaseline!" "Wot's wrong wiv vaseline?" Bubb enquired. "What's wrong with it, man," said Bowdy, "everything's wrong with it. Devil blow me blind, it's poison, pure poison. No wonder you're looking white." Bubb cast an imploring look on Bowdy. He was now evidently frightened. "I do feel something wrong with me inside," he said. "I will see the M.O. this evening." * * * * *