The hut signified by the name of mess was the result of a poor attempt to turn an inadequate building into a dining- and living-room for hungry airmen. The furniture consisted of a few trestle-tables each covered with an army blanket of different shades. Long wooden stools contrasted with aggressive hardness with the dark browns and greys of the tables, while a solitary chair, resting insecurely on three legs, indicated the appointed place of the C.O. In one corner was a much-battered piano, a partly-reconstructed derelict from a now demolished château. The inevitable gramophone, which proclaimed in wheezy tones "The Parson's waiting for me and my Girl", occupied the top of the piano in partnership with a decrepit melodeon. The windows were heavily curtained with blankets, while the blue-washed walls were adorned with a vivid selection of Kirchner prints. Curled up around the almost red-hot tortoise stove were some of the animals that are to be found in every well-ordered mess: three dogs and a large yellow-and-white cat, all serenely indifferent to a lively scrap between two lively young bloods who were settling an argument as to who should not pay for certain liquid refreshment. The rest of the mess were deriving exhilarating enjoyment from the friendly little bout, the din completely outvoicing the gramophone's announcement as to a certain padre's present occupation. There were present between twenty or thirty officers. Some, just back from a desperate errand across the enemy's lines, were still wearing their yellow-leather flying-coats, and, while watching the struggle between two of their chums, were warming their benumbed hands at the stove. Others, about to fly, were similarly attired. Others, off duty for a very limited space of time, were rigged out in a medley of garments culminating in British warms and much-soiled trench-coats. All were smoking cigarettes of a brand known throughout the British army and Royal Air Force as "gaspers", and, judging from the buzz of conversation, their thoughts were far away from the war, despite the fact that the forefront of the much-advertised Hun offensive was now but a few miles off and was still advancing. "Blow in!" was Derek's newly-found friend's invitation. "Blow in, and make yourself at home. Sling your gear over there,"--indicating a small mountain of thrown-off coats--"sorry there's no clothes-rack. Last time Jerry came over here dropping eggs our mess-room got it. We haven't replaced camp equipment yet. Hallo! No dinner ready yet? What's up with the messman this evening?" Just then an orderly stepped briskly into the room, and, saluting, delivered a sealed envelope to a small, undersized youngster whose badges of rank proclaimed him to be a major. Although barely twenty-four this officer was a senior major, and wore across his right breast a double row of ribbons belonging to much-prized distinctions. In addition he had "put up" three wound-stripes.