ostrich egg in a very small khaki nest. Private M'C. set his up on
a convenient post, and opened rapid fire upon it at a range of six
yards, surveying the resulting holes with the gloomy satisfaction of
the vindicated pessimist. Private M'D. removed the lining from his,
and performed his ablutions in the inverted crown.

"This," said Colonel Kemp, "will never do. We must start wearing the
dashed things ourselves."

And it was so. Next day, to the joy of the Battalion, their officers
appeared in the trenches selfconsciously wearing what looked like
small sky-blue wash-hand basins balanced upon their heads. But
discipline was excellent. No one even smiled. In fact, there was a
slight reaction in favour of the helmets. Conversations like the
following were overheard:--

"I'm tellin' you, Jimmy, the C.O. is no the man for tae mak' a show of
himself like that for naething. These tin bunnets must be some use.
Wull we pit oors on?"

"Awa' hame, and bile your held!" replied the unresponsive James.

"They'll no stop a whish-bang," conceded the apostle of progress, "but
they would keep off splunters, and a wheen bullets, and--and--"

"And the rain!" supplied Jimmy sarcastically.

This gibe suddenly roused the temper of the other participant in the
debate.