"The greatest service which sport has rendered us is that it has saved us from intellectual culture. Luckily one hasn’t time for everything, and golf and tennis cut out reading. We are stupid——" "Nonsense, major!" said Aurelle. "We are stupid," emphatically repeated Major Parker, who hated being contradicted, "and it is a great asset. When we are in danger we don’t notice it, because we don’t reflect; so we keep cool and come out of it nearly always with honour." "Always," amended Colonel Bramble with his Scotch curtness. And Aurelle, hopping agilely over the enormous ruts by the side of these two Goliaths, realized more clearly than ever that this war would end well. *CHAPTER II* "Clear the table," said Colonel Bramble to the orderlies. "Bring the rum, a lemon, some sugar and hot water, and keep some more boiling. Then tell my batman to give me the gramophone and the box of records." This gramophone, a gift to the Highlanders from a very patriotic old lady, was the colonel’s pride. He had it carried about after him everywhere and treated it with delicate care, feeding it every month with fresh records. "Messiou," he said to Aurelle, "what would you like? ’The Bing Boys,’ ’Destiny Waltz,’ or ’Caruso.’" Major Parker and Dr. O’Grady solemnly consigned Edison and all his works to a hotter place; the padre raised his eyes to heaven. "Anything you like, sir," said Aurelle, "except ’Caruso.’" "Why?" said the colonel. "It’s a very good record, it cost twenty-two shillings. But first of all you must hear my dear Mrs. Finzi-Magrini in ’La Tosca.’ Doctor, please regulate it, I can’t see very well—Speed 61. Don’t scratch the record, for God’s sake!" He sank down on his biscuit boxes, arranged his back comfortably against a heap of sacks, and shut his eyes. His rugged face relaxed. The padre and the doctor were playing chess, and Major Parker was filling in long returns for brigade headquarters. Over a little wood, torn to bits by shells, an aeroplane was sailing home among fleecy white clouds in a lovely pale-green sky. Aurelle began a letter. "Padre," said the doctor, "if you are going to the division to-morrow, ask them to send me some blankets for our dead Boches. You saw the one we buried this morning? The rats had half eaten him. It’s indecent. Check to the king." "Yes," said the padre, "and it’s curious how they always begin at the nose!" Over their heads a heavy English battery began to bombard the German line. The padre smiled broadly. "There’ll be dirty work at the cross roads to-night," he remarked with satisfaction. "Padre," said the doctor, "are you not the minister of a religion of peace and love?" "The Master said, my boy, that one must love one’s fellow-man. He never said that we must love Germans. I take your knight."