"You're right," says Blaire, "I've found it like that too, exactly.'' "I've got a map of the district as well, among my papers," Volpatte continues. He unfolds it to the light. Illegible and transparent at the creases, it looks like one of those window-blinds made of squares sewn together. "I've some newspaper too"--he unfolds a newspaper article upon poilus--"and a book"--a twopence-half-penny novel, called Twice a Maid--"Tiens, another newspaper cutting from the Etampes Bee. Don't know why I've kept that, but there must be a reason somewhere. I'll think about it when I have time. And then, my pack of cards, and a set of draughts, with a paper board and the pieces made of sealing-wax." Barque comes up, regards the scene, and says, "I've a lot more things than that in my pockets." He addresses himself to Volpatte. "Have you got a Boche pay-book, louse-head, some phials of iodine, and a Browning? I've all that, and two knives." "I've no revolver," says Volpatte, "nor a Boche pay-book, but I could have had two knives or even ten knives; but I only need one." "That depends," says Barque. "And have you any mechanical buttons, fathead?" "I haven't any," cries Becuwe. "The private can't do without 'em," Lamuse asserts. "Without them, to make your braces stick to your breeches, the game's up." "And I've always got in my pocket," says Blaire, "so's they're within reach, my case of rings." He brings it cut, wrapped up in a gas-mask bag, and shakes it. The files ring inside, and we hear the jingle of aluminium rings in the rough. "I've always got string," says Biquet, "that's the useful stuff!" "Not so useful as nails," says Pepin, and he shows three in his hand, big, little, and average. One by one the others come to join in the conversation, to chaffer and cadge. We are getting used to the half-darkness. But Corporal Salavert, who has a well-earned reputation for dexterity, makes a hanging lamp with a candle and a tray, the latter contrived from a Camembert box and some wire. We light up, and around its illumination each man tells what he has in his pockets, with parental preferences and bias. "To begin with, how many have we?" "How many pockets? Eighteen," says some one--Cocon, of course, the man of figures. "Eighteen pockets! You're codding, rat-nose," says big Lamuse. "Exactly eighteen," replies Cocon. "Count them, if you're as clever as all that." Lamuse is willing to be guided by reason in the matter, and putting his two hands near the light so as to count accurately, he tells off his great brick-red fingers: Two pockets in the back of the greatcoat; one for the first-aid packet, which is used for tobacco; two inside the greatcoat in front; two outside it on each side, with flaps; three in the trousers, and even three and a half, counting the little one in front. "I'll bet a compass on it," says Farfadet. "And I, my bits of tinder."