orderly. The noise, however, was followed by a succession of thumps
which put an end to this pretty flight of fancy. Aghast he surveyed
the scene before him. Close to the Brigade Headquarters' dug-out was
an old French dump of every conceivable kind of explosive made up into
every known form of projectile. No longer was it a picture of Still
Life. The Sleeping Beauty was awake indeed. The Prince had come in the
form of a common whizz-bang.

As he looked (and ducked) a flock of aerial torpedoes, propelled by
the explosion of one of their number, rose and scattered as if at the
approach of a hostile sportsman. Another explosion blew what seemed to
be a million rockets sizzling into the air.

The store was on fire!

The Brigade Major retired.
* * * * *
Everybody was in the Signal dug-out (Signals build deep and strong).
Secretly the clerks were praying for the disintegration of the
typewriter and the total destruction of the overwhelming mass of paper
(paper warfare had been terrible of late). The Staff Captain and
the O.C. Gum Boots, who had been approaching the Headquarters, were
already half a mile down the road and still going strong.

The Division rang up. One need hardly have mentioned that. In times of
stress the higher formations rarely fail.

"What's going on?" they asked.

The Brigade Major was just going to say, when suddenly he remembered.