"These maps had better go back to Ordnance," he remarked. "They ought to have been taken out at Battalion Headquarters, by rights. Some of these old Orders are interesting: they have a musty flavour now. Listen to this": _The C.O. has observed that N.C.O.’s and Men are falling into the habit of washing their gas-helmets._ "Do you remember those noisome old flannel jelly-bags, Alan?" "I do! They were abolished, as far as I can remember, about the middle of nineteen sixteen." "Yes, that’s right. They were about as much use as the sick headache which they produced." _Officers Commanding Companies will see that this practice is discontinued at once. Helmets so washed are entirely useless against a gas attack._ "Still," I commented, "if you wore them unwashed you died whether there was a gas attack on or not; so altogether, I don’t blame the washers!" "Hallo," continued Eric; "here’s a _billet-doux_ from Corps Headquarters." "What is it?" Eric grinned. "_Mules, Brief Notes on the Treatment of_. They do manage to think of things on Olympus!..." _The mule is much more dainty about what he drinks than about what he eats._ "I think that’s true: my last consignment ate seventeen nose-bags and three pack-saddles in a single night." _The mule is not really of a vicious disposition; he is only shy and nervous, and is very responsive to petting—_ "So am I, for that matter! But let’s get on, Eric. Here’s a field despatch book. It has been lying in a puddle, I fancy: these carbon duplicates have run a bit. Never mind! I don’t suppose there is anything of importance inside it." "The only legible despatch is the last one," said Eric, turning over the pages. "A pretty stately epistle, too! Listen!" _To O.C. 7th Battalion, the Grampian Regiment._ _Sir,—Reference your FZ/357, in which it is stated that the one hundred picks and shovels which this Battalion was directed to hand over to yours on the 16th inst. were handed over deficient five picks and four shovels; I am to inform you that an N.C.O. was duly sent in charge of the picks and shovels in a G.S. Waggon to Bluepoint Farm at seven a.m. on that date, and there handed over the full number of picks and shovels to an N.C.O. of your Battalion, who counted them and gave a receipt for same, a copy of which I now enclose._ _Your obedient servant,_ _R. T. C. Birnie, Lieut.,_ _For Lt.-Col. Commanding_ _2nd Battalion, Royal Covenanters._ "That fairly puts it across the Grampian Regiment!" was Eric’s verdict. "I congratulate you!" "It was Roy who was responsible," I said. "He got me out of a nasty mess with the C.R.E. by producing that receipt. He was a grand adjutant, bless him!" Eric continued to turn over the leaves of the despatch book. "There is nothing in the shape of a will or testament here," he said at last. "No; wait a minute; there’s something in the pocket of the flap."