"If this thing goes with a click, as it ought to do," said Wagstaffe, "it will be the biggest thing that ever happened--bigger even than Charlie Chaplin." "Yes--_if_!" assented the cautious Blaikie. "It's a tremendous opportunity for our section of 'K(1),'" continued Wagstaffe. "We shall have a chance of making history over this, old man." "Whatever we make--history or a bloomer--we'll do our level best," replied Blaikie. "At least, I hope 'A' Company will." Then suddenly his reserved, undemonstrative Scottish tongue found utterance. "Scotland for Ever!" he cried softly. XXI THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS "Half-past two, and a cold morning, sir." Thus Bobby Little's servant, rousing his employer from uneasy slumber under the open sky, in a newly-constructed trench running parallel to and in rear of the permanent trench line. Bobby sat up, and peering at his luminous wrist-watch, morosely acquiesced in his menial's gruesome statement. But he cheered up at the next intimation. "Breakfast is ready, sir." Tea and bacon are always tea and bacon, even in the gross darkness and mental tension which precede a Big Push. Presently various humped figures in greatcoats, having gathered in the open ditch which did duty for Officers' Mess, broke into spasmodic conversation--conversation rendered even more spasmodic by the almost ceaseless roar of guns. There were guns all round us--rank upon rank: to judge by the noise, you would have said tier upon tier as well. Half a mile ahead, upon the face of a gentle slope, a sequence of flames would spout from the ground, and a storm of shells go whistling on their way. No sooner had this happened than there would come a shattering roar from the ground beneath our feet, and a heavy battery, concealed in a hedge fifty yards to our front, would launch its contribution. Farther back lay heavier batteries still, and beyond that batteries so powerful and so distant that one heard the shell pass before the report arrived. One of these monsters, coming apparently from infinity and bound for the back of beyond, lumbered wearily over the heads of "A" Company, partaking of breakfast. Private Mucklewame paused in the act of raising his canteen to his lips. "There's Wullie awa' for a walk!" he observed. Considering that they were upon the eve of an epoch-making combat, the regiment were disappointingly placid. In the Officers' Mess the prevailing note was neither lust of battle nor fear of death: it was merely that ordinary snappishness which is induced by early rising and uncomfortable surroundings. "It's going to rain, too," grumbled Major Kemp. At this moment the Colonel arrived, with final instructions from the Brigadier.