"Don't know, but must be on guard. Better return to your station and
warn everybody as you go along. You can use your torch, but hold it
low."

As John walked back he saw by the light of his little electric torch men
sound asleep on the narrow shelves they had dug in the side of the
trench, their feet and often a shoulder covered with the drifting snow.
Strange homes were these fitted up with the warriors' arms and clothes,
and now and then with some pathetic little gift from home.

He met other men on guard like himself walking up and down the trench
and also carrying similar torches. He found Carstairs and Wharton still
awake, and occupied as they were when he had left them.

"What was it, Scott?" asked Carstairs. "Has the British army taken
Berlin?"

"No, nor has the German army taken London."

"Good old London! I'd like to drop down on it for a while just now."

"They say that at night it's as black as this trench. Zeppelins!"

"I could find my way around it in the dark. I'd go to the Ritz or the
Carlton and order the finest dinner for three that the most experienced
chef ever heard of. You don't know how good a dinner I can give--if I
only have the money. I invite you both to become my guests in London as
soon as this war is over and share my gustatory triumph."