Chockchaw entailed more perilous chances than at first appeared
probable. Indeed at one time it looked like seriously impeding the
course of final victory.

On a certain brown November day the G.S.O.2 suddenly jumped up from
his chair, ran to the Canteen cupboard, popped a piece of Chockchaw
into his mouth (because he had a difficult March Table to make out and
needed sustenance) and fell to work whistling like an ordinary human
being (who cannot whistle). I.O. (not the gadfly, but the Intelligence
Officer) dropped in with his usual list of suspected hostile
emplacements. He took Chockchaw in case he was asked pertinent
questions. He has to be _so_ careful what he gives away unofficially.
He knows so _much_. Germans try to steal his summaries to find out
what their own intentions really are. The A.D.C. dropped in for his
usual morning chat and Chockchaw. The Staff Officer R.A. (S.O.R.A.),
that inveterate sweet-guzzler, also dropped in.

"Hullo, what are you fellows munching?" asked the General, coming in
muddied all over. "Give me a bit; I've had no breakfast. What's the
news, Intelligence?" (No answer) "Is that Move Order done, by the
way?" (No answer.) "Why, what the--Good Lord, I'm _stuck_! What
stuff is this you've given me?" And there they all stood chumping in
silence.

The telephone rang. The absurdity of a dumb Staff tickled everybody.
They winked their appreciation of the situation at one another. Not to
be able to say "Thank you" on being instructed "with reference to my
telegram of to-day for L/Cpl. Plunkett read L/Cpl. Plonkett," appealed
to them. Amidst the chuckles and gluggels of all, the G.S.O.3 was
obliged to lift the receiver. Something of the seriousness of the