"Time, too!"

And the storm of revilings ceases as if by magic. Wrath is changed
into sudden contentment.

Three breathless fatigue men, their faces streaming with tears of
sweat, put down on the ground some large tins, a paraffin can, two
canvas buckets, and a file of loaves, skewered on a stick. Leaning
against the wall of the trench, they mop their faces with their
handkerchiefs or sleeves. And I see Cocon go up to Pepere with a
smile, and forgetful of the abuse he had been heaping on the other's
reputation, he stretches out a cordial hand towards one of the cans
in the collection that swells the circumference of Pepere. after the
manner of a life-belt.

"What is there to eat?"

"It's there," is the evasive reply of the second fatigue man, whom
experience has taught that a proclamation of the menu always evokes
the bitterness of disillusion. So they set themselves to panting
abuse of the length and the difficulties of the trip they have just
accomplished: "Some crowds about, everywhere! It's a tough job to
get along--got to disguise yourself as a cigarette paper,
sometimes."--"And there are people who say they're shirkers in the
kitchens!" As for him, he would a hundred thousand times rather be
with the company in the trenches, to mount guard and dig, than earn
his keep by such a job, twice a day during the night!

Paradis, having lifted the lids of the jars, surveys the recipients
and announces, "Kidney beans in oil, bully, pudding, and