Darkness was falling without, and with the darkness came a multiplication of the shells designed by the enemy for the discomfort of the regiment.... Kendall, to his surprise, was growing accustomed to the shells. He was conscious of them, but had lost something of his consciousness of the danger that was in them.... He was interested. It was an interesting spot and an interesting moment, and he sat quiet and wide of eye to miss no thrill that might be there for him.... Telephones were busy with messages coming and going, messages camouflaged by strange words and code numbers and weird names. When plain English was necessary the longest and most erudite words in the dictionary were sought, doubtless on the theory that the German was not educated to the point of comprehending them. Everybody had his job, and everybody seemed to believe his especial piece of work to be the most important in the army. A lieutenant came in with a scowl of tremendous ferocity. “Colonel,” he said, “we’ve got a damn bad situation. It’s that doctor. He refuses to give some of my wounded men wound chevrons. Says they aren’t wounded enough.... How bad has a man got to be shot before he’s wounded, anyhow?” “My understanding,” said the lieutenant-colonel, “is that any man who is hurt enough to require medical attention is entitled to a chevron.... It doesn’t make any difference if he’s hurt by high explosive or hooked by a bull.” The din was now terrific. French and American artillery had opened fire all along the line. So quickly did report follow explosion and explosion report that the whole mingled into one continuous and mighty sound. And during it all the young Intelligence officer quarreled with a sergeant who was his draftsman, as they tried to reconcile maps drawn from observers’ sketches with photographs taken from aeroplanes. “Aw, hell!” growled the draftsman, “this guy’s made a conventionalized design. What we’re lookin’ for is what’s on the ground, not some guy’s pretty ideas. You want me to make a map to send up to the general, and what the devil have I got to make it from? I’m S.O.L.... There hain’t no damn woods like that.” “Here,” declared Jimmy, indicating on maps and photographs, “this woods is supposed to be that woods, and this trench is supposed to be that trench.” “_Supposed!_” “Yes.” “Expect me to send a map to the general and label it ‘Supposed?...’ That map’s pretty, all right, but it hain’t worth a hoot in Hoboken. Call him up and ask him what the blazes—” Kendall laughed, and was surprised to discover that he could laugh, that anything would seem humor in this place with death showering down on all sides. Now the attentions of the enemy seemed to take on the aspect of a serious effort, for the officers of experience began to gather and to hold consultations and to listen with marked interest. “Gas!” somebody said. “Listen! Hear it?”